


don't you ever tame your demons

by elizaham8957



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, F/M, First Love, Fluff and Angst, I suppose, Jonerys Remix 2020, Just for the record, and hunter!dany, high school setting, it's a teen wolf au okay because I am TRASH, the major character death is NOT JONERYS, werewolf!Jon, who do I look like d&d???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 30,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23799652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: “It must be a serial killer,” someone whispers in her history class.Sort of right,Dany thinks. “What other kind of person would be psycho enough to murder a bunch of people and then tear their bodies up?”Someone who’s not really a person,she thinks. Gods, it’s almost sad how uninformed the people of Winterfell are.They’ve gone and made the school mascot a direwolf, their town is on the edge of theWolfswood,and still no one seems to realize that there are werewolves lurking in their small town.People are closed minded, she supposes. Most of them don’t even realize the supernatural world exists. And that’s their first mistake.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 134
Kudos: 537
Collections: Jonerys Remix 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii everyone, and happy Jonerys Remix 2020!! 
> 
> My contribution to this INCREDIBLE event (shoutout to Ashley for organizing girl you are the BEST) is a Teen Wolf au, which is fitting seeing as Teen Wolf is what got me into writing in the first place, haha. This is like suuuper loosely based on Scott and Allison in the show, but I took a lot of creative liberties, so you need to know absolutely nothing about Teen Wolf to understand this. However, if you DID watch the show, whoever finds the most quotes that I stole from the show wins a prize. It did occasionally have good writing, didn't it? 
> 
> Which leads me to: if you are familiar with Teen Wolf you are also familiar with Allison's ending on the show most likely, and I just wanna clear that up right now: Dany does not die in this fic. I would never ever do that, promise. There is angst ahead, but not that kind of angst, because I could literally never bring myself to write my girl dying. It will never happen, PINKY SWEAR. 
> 
> This (of course) got longer than I expected, so I felt it was probably best to split it into two parts. The whole thing is written, though, so the next half should be up in a couple days. It was really fun to go back to my roots with this fic (and I'm seriously considering rewatching the first few seasons of Teen Wolf now, you know-- back when the writing was actually good) and I hope you enjoy it!! I've been sitting on this idea since last Halloween so it was nice to actually get to write it all out. Thank you for reading, and let me know what you think!!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48965150977/in/dateposted-public/)

Winterfell is a quiet, sleepy town nestled up North, filled with old, cozy looking houses and buildings that seem as if they were built centuries ago and never touched again. It’s the type of town where everybody knows everybody— even right off the Kingsroad, it still maintains that small-town charm, and, tucked up against the never ending Wolfswood, the feeling of isolation from the rest of the world. It’s a calm town. An unassuming town. A town where you might settle down and raise your children, the only dangers you have to worry about the harsh winters of the North. 

It seems to be a town where nothing really happens, but Dany knows that isn’t true. 

It had been true for a while. For years and years, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary about Winterfell. And then people started disappearing. 

It started that way at first. Just disappearances. People went missing, and the police couldn’t find a trace of them. It had been just one to start, but then there was a second, and a third. Too many to be a coincidence in this small of a town. But still— they would just go missing, nothing more. 

And then a jogger had found a body in the woods.

Well, not really. The jogger found _half_ a body. The police found the other half, and the other two missing people, close by, though it was difficult to tell if it truly was just the three. Mangled and ripped into pieces, icy cold, covered in dirt and blood— they were hardly recognizable. Something only a monster could have done. 

That’s when Dany and her brothers had moved to Winterfell. 

“Are you sure I have to go to school?” she asks them both, finishing off her breakfast at the counter of their new apartment. Viserys rolls his eyes, still brewing his coffee, while Rhaegar just leans across the island, giving her one of those smirky grins of his. 

“I’m sure, little sister,” he says, and Dany sticks her tongue out at him. “You’re finishing high school, regardless of how many different high schools that requires you to attend.” 

“Can I even get a diploma if I never stay more than a year at a school?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. 

“Nice try, but you’re still going,” Viserys says, leaning against the counter, coffee now in his hands. “You’re seventeen, Dany. You’re going to school.” 

“You two are no fun,” she pouts, taking the last bite of her cereal. “You know if you let me help you, we might find it faster.” 

“You are helping,” Rhaegar assures her. “It’s a small town, Dany. People whisper. Listen hard enough, and they’ll start whispering about something that can be useful. Even if they don’t realize it.” 

“And what better place to soak up meaningless gossip that’s not _really_ so meaningless than high school?” Viserys adds. “It’s the perfect place to be, really.”

“Easy for you to say,” Dany grumbles. “You’re not the one who has to take pre-calculus.” 

“C’mon,” Rhaegar says, pushing off the island. “Let’s get you to school.” 

Dany thinks it’s ironic, really, that the mascot of Winterfell’s school is the Direwolf. It almost makes her wonder if they know what lurks in their town. “Appropriate,” Rhaegar snorts, eyeing the large mosaic wolf howling at the moon, sprawled across the school’s front walk. He puts the car in park, unlocking the door as Dany undoes her seatbelt, grabbing her backpack. 

“Have fun!” Rhaegar says, smirking at her obnoxiously like only big brothers can. 

“Fuck you,” Dany grumbles, opening the car door, though she’s mostly joking. 

“Hey!” Rhaegar says. “Watch your language.” 

“Goodbye, Rhaegar,” she says, falsely sweet, waggling her fingers as she shuts the car door. He just laughs as he drives off, Dany watching his car disappear back onto the main road. 

She turns and surveys her new school, the bustle of other high schoolers shuffling inside, right over the huge tile wolf. 

She sighs, following them inside. Now she just needs to find a _real_ wolf, and then they can leave this place again. 

***

Classes are boring, just like they always are. 

The amount of moving around she does has never affected Dany’s schoolwork. She’s smart as a whip— and even if she complains, she knows that her education is important. Even if she’d rather be out hunting with Rhaegar and Viserys than suffering through math class. So she pays attention and does her work, keeping her ear to the ground in the meantime, listening for any whispers. Things that may sound innocuous, but are actually the key to finding their target. 

Even though it seems like half the student body is whispering about the bodies in the woods, no one seems to know anything useful. Hells, no one even seems to know what really _did_ it. 

“It must be a serial killer,” someone whispers in her history class. _Sort of right,_ Dany thinks. “What other kind of person would be psycho enough to murder a bunch of people and then tear their bodies up?” 

_Someone who’s not really a person,_ she thinks. Gods, it’s almost sad how uninformed the people of Winterfell are. 

They’ve gone and made the school mascot a direwolf, their town is on the edge of the _Wolfswood,_ and still no one seems to realize that there are werewolves lurking in their small town. 

People are closed minded, she supposes. Most of them don’t even realize the supernatural world exists. And that’s their first mistake. 

“My dad thinks it’s some kind of animal,” another girl whispers during chemistry. _Closer,_ Dany thinks. “He’s a deputy for WPD, and they’ve actually seen the bodies. They’re covered in claw marks. Like they were ripped apart, not chopped. They didn’t put that on the news.” 

_No, they didn’t,_ Dany thinks. The news had been very vague about the condition of the bodies discovered. But she and her brothers have seen things like this far too often for it to slip past them. And then Viserys had pulled some strings and hacked his way into the Winterfell PD files, and the images of the bodies were all they needed to confirm. 

And now, here they are, in Winterfell. Doing what they do best— hunting monsters. 

English is her last class before break, according to her schedule. When Dany finally manages to locate the classroom, most of the desks are already full, save for a few in the front row. Those are rubbish, she thinks, because no one will bother whispering in the front row, so she won’t be able to get any information. But there’s one seat left almost in the back that’s perfect, so she makes a beeline for it. 

“Is anyone sitting here?” she asks the boy at the desk next to it. He looks up from his books, blinking at her in surprise. Dany has to admit, her breath catches as well. 

She knows they’re here for a reason, and that reason is never really to make friends, but the boy is _cute._ He has inky black curls and the shadow of a beard across his jaw, making him look older than the typical juniors in high school. As his eyes meet hers, Dany’s heart skips a beat at the sight of his beautiful grey eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes. His full lips part a little in surprise as he sizes her up, before he seems to realize she’d asked him a question. 

“Ah, no, it’s free,” he says, nodding towards the desk. “All yours.” She smiles gratefully, placing her things on the free desk, slipping into the seat at it. She can feel the boy’s gaze still on her, even as she arranges her notebooks, preparing for class to begin. 

Finally, she can’t take it anymore, and she turns to him. He’s studying her quizzically, like he can’t quite figure her out. 

Good. The less people that have her figured out, the better. 

“Are you new here?” the boy asks, staring at her curiously. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” 

“Yes, I am,” she answers, even though with a town as small as this, she’s sure he already knows the answer. “I’m Dany,” she offers anyways. 

“Jon,” he returns, giving her a little half smile, tugging at just the corners of his lips. It somehow makes him even more handsome. “Where did you move from?” he adds. 

“Dragonstone,” she says, knowing it’s only half the truth. Sure, that’s the place she had called home for longest— the place where she most feels like she belongs— but she hasn’t been there in a long time. For the past several years, she and her brothers have been wherever business takes them, regardless of where that might be. 

Jon hums, mulling over her answer. “Lot more people there than there are here.” 

“Mm,” she agrees. “Much warmer there, too.” 

Jon almost laughs, ducking his head. “Aye, I can’t fight you on that.” He smiles at her, and it makes her heart flutter, just a bit. “Still, are you likin’ the North so far?” 

“Yes,” she says. She supposes, if she weren’t here to track down a deadly monster, and people weren’t disappearing into the woods and resurfacing days later torn to shreds, it would be a nice town. “It’s very different from anywhere else I’ve ever been,” she says, and it’s true. Jon opens his mouth to say more, but then the teacher walks in, and the class falls silent. 

Dany figures that’s probably enough social interaction for the day— she’s not exactly here to make friends, she’s here to gather _information—_ but her plans are dashed right before her free period. She’s at her new locker, trying to organize the slew of textbooks that had been given to her, when a girl comes up to her, surveying her from head to toe and giving her a friendly smile. 

“You look new here,” the girl says, and Dany just nods. She is right, after all. “That jacket is absolutely _killer,_ by the way. Where’d you get it?” 

Dany looks at the soft leather jacket she’d worn to school today, trying not to think of the irony— when she’s out hunting, it holds three knives on the inside. Truly killer, even if it’s not how the girl meant it. 

“Pentos,” she says to her. “I got it while I was on holiday there last year.” 

“I love it,” she says, smiling brightly, tossing her chestnut curls back with a practiced stroke. “I’m Margaery.”

“Daenerys,” she offers, smiling back. 

“So is this your first day?” Margaery asks, leaning up against the other lockers as Dany nods. “Have you had a proper tour of the school yet?” 

“Not really, no,” she admits. She’s managed to find her way from class to class, but just barely. 

“Well, I have a free period next,” Margaery says, shrugging. “If you want, I could show you around.” 

Dany knows she’s not here to make friends, but sometimes— sometimes it’s still nice to have one. And Margaery seems nice, while also giving off the air that she is one of those people that knows everything about everyone. 

That, Dany thinks, could be useful. 

“I’d love that,” she says, returning her smile, and Margaery almost squeals, dragging her off on an impromptu tour. 

They go through the whole school, Margaery showing her the best shortcuts to get from class to class, the main areas of the building, all of that. “I’ll show you the fields,” she says once they’ve seen everything inside there is to see. “It’s free period, so the rugby team’s probably practicing.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively, smirking at Dany. “Trust me, you do _not_ want to miss that.” 

Apparently watching the rugby team practice is quite a thing at this school, because there’s a fair sized crowd gathered on the bleachers when she and Margaery reach them. The other girl leads her over to a spot, the two of them sitting to watch the boys run drills back and back. 

Dany’s heart skips a beat as she catches sight of a familiar mop of dark curls out on the field. It’s Jon, from her class, and he must be able to feel her gaze, because he turns towards her from the sidelines, offering her half a smile and a nod of the head. 

“Who are you staring at?” Margaery teases, bumping Dany with her shoulder. Dany tries not to recoil, retreat back into herself— moving around so much has meant that she’s never really had a group of friends, done the whole slumber-party secret sharing thing. It’s different, having to remember Margaery is just teasing her goodnaturedly. 

“No one,” Dany says casually. “Just that boy. Jon, I think? He sits next to me in English.” 

“Ah, Jon Snow,” Margaery says. “Well, Jon Stark, technically. Though everyone calls him Snow. Even the teachers, really.” 

“Why?” Dany asks, genuinely curious. Margaery shrugs again. 

“No one really knows. Family nickname, him and his cousins claim, though they won’t tell us why.” She smiles again, eyes finding someone on the field and following them like a hawk. “Jon and his cousin Robb are the best players on the team.” She points to a boy next to Jon, shoving him in the shoulder playfully, before running a hand through his auburn curls. “Though personally, I much prefer Robb,” she giggles. “Jon tends to be… broody.” 

“Is that so?” Dany says, eyes fixing on Jon’s raven locks once again, watching as he and his cousin rejoin the team, sprinting across the field. 

“Mm,” Margaery says with a smirk. “Everyone knows the only reason Jon is _ever_ social is because Robb drags him along to parties and such. If he had his way, I think he’d sit in the corner all night sulking and refusing to talk to anyone.” 

“He talked to me,” Dany says absentmindedly. She doesn’t think much of it, but by the way Margaery is staring at her with wide blue eyes, it must be something. 

“He did?” she asks, raising her brows. Dany shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable. 

“In class. Not very much, but.” 

“Still,” Margaery says, that teasing smile back in place. “That’s better than most people get.” 

The coach blows the whistle, all the boys huddling on the field before they break, headed back to the benches. “Come on,” Margaery says, standing up, grabbing Dany’s hand to tug her down the bleachers. “Let’s go talk to them.” 

“Margaery—” Dany says, throwing her a cautionary look, but the other girl brushes it off. 

“It’s fine, I promise,” she says. “Robb!” 

The other boy looks up, smile widening when he sees Margaery approach. “Hi, Marge,” he says, his eyes twinkling in a way that Dany can just tell charms the other girl. “You keepin’ tabs on the team already?” 

“Of course,” she giggles, batting her lashes. “You boys are looking good out there. I’m sure you’ll have the other team cowering in fear.” Jon snorts under his breath, still preoccupied with packing up his gym bag. 

“We can only hope,” Robb agrees, giving her another dazzling grin. Then his eyes skate over to Dany, taking her in, making her straighten her spine defensively. “Who’s this?” Robb asks, and at that, Jon looks up. 

“This is Daenerys,” Margaery says proudly, nudging her with her shoulder again. “She’s new here.” 

“Nice to meet you, Daenerys,” Robb says, his smile friendly, blue eyes twinkling. Jon, on the other hand, doesn’t say a word, just looking at her with slightly parted lips, something indescribable in his dark eyes. She tries to ignore how it makes her heart speed up. 

“You as well,” she returns, before Robb’s attention flits back to Margaery. It’s clear from the way they look at each other there’s _something_ between them. 

“You coming to the first game of the season next week?” Robb asks, and Margaery huffs at him, smiling prettily. 

“As if I would miss it,” she says, playing at offense. “Of course I’ll be there.” 

“You should come too, Dany,” Jon says, startling them all. He looks a little uncomfortable as all of their eyes snap to him, but he holds her gaze, his expression so open that her breath catches. 

“I’ve never been to a rugby game before,” she says with a shrug. “It’d be fun to see one.” Jon gives her a tiny smile in return, and she can’t fight the need to smile back at him. 

“There we go,” Robb says, clapping his cousin on the shoulder. “What better way to adjust to a new school than by watching their _championship winning_ team crush their opponents in rugby?” 

“Okay,” Margaery says, rolling her eyes. “He’s getting braggy now. Let’s go, Dany.” Robb just laughs, Margaery waving goodbye to the boys as she links her arm with Dany’s, leading her back to the school. 

It’s not until Dany’s sitting in her last class of the day that she realizes there’s little purpose to going to a rugby game. She’s here for a reason, after all. And that reason isn’t to get caught up in a normal high school life. That reason is to hunt down and eliminate the werewolves in this town before they can kill anyone else. 

She shakes her head, refocusing on the class around her, taking in the students. And listening for whispers. Always, always listening. 

Still. There’s one tiny part of her brain that stubbornly refuses to let go of the memory of Jon Snow.

***

The Wolfswood has been restricted to the public since the discovery of the first bodies, but Winterfell is such a tiny town that they don’t exactly have the manpower to enforce that. Especially with numerous gory homicide cases sitting unsolved on their desks. 

Dany and her brothers haven’t let the alleged ban stop them from exploring the vast woods where the killer, or killers, seem to be lurking. “Could be a whole pack,” Viserys muses, the three of them picking their way through the trees. During the daylight, it’s really beautiful here, where the trees aren’t too thick— dappled sunlight filters in through the branches, all the leaves turning different shades of brilliant reds and oranges for autumn. The ground is covered in a thick layer of them, crunching softly underfoot. 

In the dark, it would look spooky, Dany thinks. In the deeper parts of the woods, where the trees are older and the branches more twisted and gnarled, with only pale moonlight illuminating the ground, it would be the stereotypical place for a werewolf to crouch, hidden from human eyes. Maybe that’s why it had been named as such, centuries and centuries ago. 

“Would explain why the bodies were so mangled,” Rhaegar agrees. “I’ve seen some violent werewolves, but never something like this.” 

“All the more reason to catch the bastard,” Viserys says. He has a knife in hand, Dany sees, running his thumb against the sharp blade. It’s one of the few Valyrian steel ones they have— each of them own one knife made of the material, all their other hunting weapons made of steel laced with wolfsbane. That’s what all the bullets are as well. Guns are easier to kill werewolves with, but sometimes close quarters warrant knives. 

“Dany, we didn’t ask,” Rhaegar says, turning and giving her a sly smile as they continue on. Viserys had managed to get a rough location of where the initial bodies had been found, so now they’re trekking out there to check it out. “How was your first day of school?” 

She shrugs, kicking at a tree root in the ground, white with age. “Alright,” she says. “I made friends. I think.” 

“That’s good,” Rhaegar says, reaching over to ruffle her hair like she’s eight years old. She shoots him a look, even though they both know she secretly loves when he does that. 

“Is it?” she returns, making a face. “We’re not here for that. We’re here to do a job.” 

“Yes, but you still have to live your life,” Rhaegar says with a roll of his eyes. “You’re seventeen, Dany. You have to do normal teenager things sometimes too.” 

“I’m hardly a normal teenager,” she grumbles. “How many seventeen year olds do you know that can take down a full grown werewolf with nothing but a hunting knife?” 

“You’re probably the only one,” Viserys says with a smirk. “Still, Dany, you’re right. We’re here for a job, but having friends is never a bad thing. Especially friends who know this place better than we ever could.” Dany’s eyes narrow at her brother, understanding what he’s saying. 

“You want me to _use_ them?” she asks. Viserys makes a face, shrugging a little. 

“Not exactly. If you like them, sure, be friends with them. But don’t forget about any information they could offer up.” 

She pauses, walking straight ahead again, the only sound the crunching of the leaves underfoot. He’s right, she knows. She needs to stop forgetting why they’re really here. She can hear their father’s words in her ear, whispering that she’ll never be as clever, never as strong, never as good of a hunter as her brothers. 

She’s determined to prove him wrong. And maybe this is how she can do it. If she finds this werewolf— helps take him down— she can imagine how proud Rhaegar and Vis would look now. How they’d smile at her. How no one would be able to deny that she’s an integral part of this team. That she is every bit a Targaryen, every bit a hunter, just like the rest of them, for the past few centuries. 

“Right up here,” Rhaegar says, leading them to the clearing where the bodies had been found, and her mind immediately switches back to the present, shutting away the what-ifs. 

They have a job to do, and she is determined to do it well. 

***

Viserys’ words fresh in her mind, Dany goes back to school with a newfound determination. 

She gets her schoolwork done. She listens to her classmates gossip, tucking all their comments away in her mind. She watches, and she learns. But she also sits with Margaery at lunch, lets her introduce her to her other friends, laughs with them as they make stupid jokes and complain about their teachers. She doesn’t miss the way Margaery and Robb shamelessly flirt with each other, or the way their other friends make fun of them for it. Maragery invites Dany to a girls’ night on Friday, and she arrives at her new friend’s house full of anxious energy, nerves twisting in her stomach. 

Killing monsters she can do. But she’s never been very good at having _friends._

She finds herself genuinely enjoying Margaery’s company. The other girl is beyond friendly, and Dany admires that sharp sense of cleverness below her bubbly, popular-girl exterior. There’s much more to her than it seems at the surface. And she takes Dany into the fold immediately, treating her as if she’s a friend she’s known her whole life. 

“I’m just saying, Marge,” a redheaded girl who Dany is fairly certain is named Sansa says with a raised eyebrow, all of them sprawled out on Margaery’s bedroom floor, eating candy and gossiping like they’re twelve, not nearly adults. “I’d really appreciate you _not_ flirting shamelessly with my brother every time he happens to be around.” 

Dany’s jaw drops a little at that. “Wait, Robb is your brother?” she asks Sansa, some of the other girls tittering at the way Margaery looks properly abashed.

Sansa nods. “How many Starks _are_ there?” Dany asks, raising a brow. Sansa laughs. 

“There are five of us,” she says, an amused smile playing at her lips. “Plus our parents. And then our uncle Benjen, and his children, and Aunt Lyanna, and Jon…” Dany just blinks. 

“Our school is practically _infested,”_ Margaery laughs. “Good thing all her relatives our age are so attractive.” She smiles again. “And just _wait_ till you see the house they all live in, I swear to the gods it’s right out of a fairytale!” 

Dany just laughs, trying not to let thoughts of a certain raven-haired Stark invade her mind. 

That’s been difficult, as of late. Despite Margaery’s summation that Jon isn’t particularly a people person, that doesn’t seem to hold true around her. They always chat before English class, and the few other times Margaery has dragged her to watch rugby practice, he’ll give her one of those half smiles and a wave when he sees her in the bleachers. 

On Thursday, they’re told to pair up in English to discuss the week’s reading, and before she can even turn to survey her classmates, Jon is looking at her, those grey eyes bright with hope. 

“D’you want to work together, Dany?” he asks, and she nods, ignoring the fluttering of her heart. 

They’re reading _Heart of Darkness,_ which Dany thinks is a rubbish book, honestly. But talking about it with Jon makes it a little more bearable, and she finds herself smiling at his snippy remarks about the story and the characters. He, too, seems to hold it in very low regard. 

The period is almost over, all their discussion questions answered, when Jon looks up at her, fingers drumming against his leg almost nervously. She inhales, sensing the question in his eyes, the almost imperceptible hope hidden behind. “Are you still comin’ to the game with Margaery tomorrow night?” he asks, and her heart quickens, unable to fight back a smile. 

“Yes, I was planning on it,” she says softly, and he smiles at her, lips twitching up just at the corners. He truly is handsome, she thinks. 

“Good,” he says, eyes still locked on hers, even as their classmates pack up their belongings. “I’m lookin’ forward to seeing you there.” 

“I’m looking forward to seeing you play,” she returns, and he huffs in amusement, rolling his eyes. 

“You mean Robb, right? He’s the true star of the team,” he jokes, but she can sense the caution in his words. Like he almost believes they’re true. 

“No, you,” she says, and his expression softens, making her heart race. She’s not sure what it is about Jon Snow that makes her feel this way, but she’s helpless to fight it off. 

She wears a warm coat the night of the rugby game, sitting on the cold bleachers next to Margaery, what seems like the rest of the student body all crowded in around them. Sansa is on their other side, cheering on her relatives as they lead their team to an early lead in score. 

It’s fun, Dany decides, pretending to be a normal teenager for a little bit. Viserys hadn’t been so sure when she’d told them of her Friday night plans, but Rhaegar had waved her off encouragingly, telling her to enjoy herself. And when Jon finds her in the stands, smiling up at her from the brightly lit field, eyes shining even from so far away and making butterflies flutter in her stomach, she supposes it’s not so bad, being normal. 

Besides, she tells herself, it’s just one night. Tomorrow she’ll be back to business, focus on the task at hand. And then she’ll prove herself. 

Winterfell wins the game handily, with quite a lead over their opponents. Margaery stands up as it ends, whooping for Robb as he fist bumps his teammates, all of them gleeful for their first win of the season. They all head to the field afterwards, the team mingling with their friends even as their coaches yell at them to get to the locker room. 

“That was brilliant!” Margaery says, practically tackling Robb as they reach the field. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, the two of them chatting amicably as the rest of the crowd clears out. But Dany’s eyes are trapped on Jon, the way he runs his hand through his sweaty, mussed curls. 

“So what did you think?” he asks, giving her another one of those little smiles. Her heart speeds up at the sight of it, just as always. 

“It was interesting,” she says, laughing. “Is rugby always so violent?” 

Jon chuckles at that, the two of them walking away from the thinning crowd, over to the side of the empty bleachers, where it’s quieter. “Aye, I suppose it is,” he says with a shrug. “Nature of the game, I guess.” 

“Still, you played very well,” she says, caught in his eyes. She has no idea how to do this— she’s never had time for boys at the handful of schools she’s been shuffled through— but Jon doesn’t seem to notice, his gaze never wavering from hers either, chest still rising and falling too rapidly from all the running he’d just done. 

“Thanks,” he says, voice sincere. “I’m really glad you came.” 

“I am too,” she says, voice almost a whisper, and is it her, or is he getting closer? 

He takes a step closer to her, hand nudging hers gently, and she tangles her fingers with his, heart racing all the while. She looks up at him through her lashes, his face so close to hers she can see every fleck of silver in his deep grey eyes, can practically hear her heart racing in her chest. She’s never _done_ this before, felt something so real for someone after so little time, but there is something about Jon Snow that pulls her in, refusing to let her go. Not that she wants to let go. If this is what being a normal high schooler means, Dany thinks she might not mind it so much. 

“Dany,” he whispers, almost like a question. His nose almost brushes hers, and she looks at him, heart in her throat, breathing growing shallow. And then he’s leaning in closer to her, her eyes fluttering closed as his lips brush hers. 

Dany has kissed boys before. She may not have time for frivolous things like feelings and relationships, but Rhaegar’s insistence that she have a semi-normal life means that she hasn’t completely missed out on all the normal high school milestones. But she’s never kissed a boy and had it feel like _this_ before— like every nerve in her body is alight, like her heart may leap from her chest at any given second. Jon’s lips are warm and insistent against hers, his hand dropping hers so he can wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her in closer to him. She folds her arms around his neck, fingers playing with the dark curls at the back of his head, still damp with sweat from the game, as he kisses her so sweetly she thinks she may just burst. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, pulling away from her a little bit, still keeping her wrapped up in his arms, and she laughs, feeling lighter than air. Against her body, she can feel Jon’s chest rise and fall sharply, his heart surely beating as fast as hers. 

“Yes,” she breathes, and he smiles at her, _truly_ smiles, brilliant white teeth peeking out from behind his plump lips, before they’re on hers once again, kissing her more eagerly. 

She feels so warm, wrapped in his arms, the chill of the autumn air forgotten momentarily as his mouth works against hers, his teeth tugging at her bottom lip, hands tracing across her back. She smiles into the kiss, his beard scraping against her chin as he moves his head to kiss her deeper, leaving them both breathless. 

When they separate again, still wrapped up together, it could be minutes or hours later, Dany can’t tell. But from the way they smile at each other, small and private and full of happiness— Dany knows that whatever this is she feels for Jon, it’s not something she’s ever dealt with before. 

Generally, that would scare her, but as they look at each other in the darkness, foreheads pressed together, she thinks she’s never before felt something so right. 

***

She wakes up on Saturday morning to a text from an unknown number, asking if she wants to go out tonight. She bites back a smile as another message appears, this one reading, _sorry, it’s Jon. Got your number from Margaery. Hope that’s okay._

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Viserys says as she waltzes into the kitchen, her brother finishing off pouring a cup of coffee. She takes the coffee pot from him, pouring herself a cup as well. 

“Nothing,” she says evasively, just as Rhaegar stumbles in as well, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m going out tonight, though.” 

“You’re certainly getting on well with these friends,” Viserys says, pouting at her. “Make sure you remember why we’re really here, Dany.” 

“Lay off, Vis,” Rhaegar mumbles, pulling a box of cereal out of the cupboard. “Just be careful, Dany. Full moon’s coming up.” 

She nods in acknowledgement, but her thoughts are too clouded with Jon to really give it any mind. 

Jon takes her to the movies that night, which is possibly the most stereotypical high school date _ever._ But she finds she doesn’t care, as they sit with their shoulders pressed together in the dark theater, fingers twined, because it’s _Jon._ Everything with him is a little different, a little more special. Even the ordinary things, like going to the movies. 

“D’you want to go get something to eat?” he asks as they walk out of the theater, eyes adorably imploring, and she smiles, nodding without a second thought. 

They go to little diner downtown, quaint and cozy and full of small-town charm. Jon leads her to a booth in the back, away from the other tables filled with people their age, sliding in after her so they’re sitting next to each other once again. 

There’s a fluttering of nerves in her stomach as she looks through the menu, the realization that this is a _date_ and she _likes_ Jon hitting her now far more than it did in the darkness of the movie theater, but Jon takes the menu from her hands, giving her one of those little grins. 

“You’ve never had northern food before, have you?” he asks, and she shakes her head. 

“You don’t need that, then,” he says, pushing the menu across the table. “I know what we’re gettin’.” 

Jon orders something Dany has never heard of, but she trusts him when he tells her she’ll like it. They chat until their food comes, the butterflies in her stomach beginning to stem less from nerves and more from just _Jon._

But then a waitress comes by and puts a plate before the two of them, and Dany immediately wonders if she’d misplaced her faith in him. 

“Jon,” she says, nose wrinkling. “Er… what _is_ that?” 

“I know how it looks,” he says, grabbing a gravy-smothered fry off the plate before them and popping it into his mouth. “But trust me, it’s delicious.” 

She’s not sure how that can physically be possible. There are _cheese curds_ on top, for the sake of the gods.

“Are you _sure?”_ she asks weakly, watching as Jon takes another fry, licking his lips. The quick flash of his tongue makes her heart speed up, butterflies rioting inside her. 

“I’m sure,” he says, nodding towards the plate. “C’mon, at least try one.” 

“I swear to the gods, Jon Snow,” she says, picking up a fry warily. “If this is disgusting, so help me—” 

But then she takes a bite, and her protests die on her tongue. 

“Holy shit,” she says, finishing off the fry. “How— _how_ is this so good?” 

Jon just laughs. 

The plate is clean in what seems like a matter of minutes, Dany’s belly full and the inexplicably delicious taste still lingering on her lips. “Okay,” she relents, lips twitching up when she sees Jon’s smug little grin. “You were right. That was fantastic.” 

“I told you,” he teases, edging a little closer in the booth. Her heart flutters, speeding up even more when he takes her hand, tangles their fingers together again. 

“So what d’you think?” Jon asks, voice quiet. “The North isn’t so bad after all, aye?” 

“Mm,” she hums, smiling. “It’s certainly growing on me.” She shrugs. “It’s not the same as Dragonstone, of course, but it has its merits.” 

She can tell, just by the soft glint to his eyes, that he can tell she means he’s one of them. 

“Do you miss it a lot?” he asks, eyes imploring. She shrugs again, not exactly sure how to disclose how truly nomadic she is without revealing… too much. 

Usually, she would just lie. But something about Jon makes her stomach flop at the thought of that. She doesn’t want to be untruthful with him. Because no matter what reason has actually brought her here, no matter what she really is— what she feels for him, she knows, is undeniably real. In a way relationships with other people usually aren’t for her. 

“I suppose,” she says carefully. “I… truthfully, I haven’t been there in a while. My family has moved around a lot recently.” Jon’s brow furrows just a bit, fingers squeezing hers lightly. “But it’s always been the place I consider home. So yes, I guess I do miss it.” 

“Do your parents do somethin’ that has to relocate a lot?” he asks, and she can tell, just from his voice, he’s genuinely curious. It’s such a change from her normal isolated lifestyle, to have someone want to know things about her. But it feels _good._ Because truthfully, she wants to know things about Jon as well. 

“No,” she says. “My two brothers. It’s just me and them now.” 

“Oh,” Jon says, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry, Dany.” 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, leaning into him a little bit. She blinks, trying to force down memories of her father, back when she was still small, and he was still alive. How he’d told her she’d never be as good of a hunter as her brothers. 

What would he think of her now, when she’s out on a date instead of tracking down the werewolf ravaging this town? 

Dany squeezes her eyes shut, pushing the memories away. She’s still allowed to live sometimes, she figures. And Jon… well. Jon is like nothing she’s ever had in her life. 

“What about you?” she asks, changing the subject. His brow furrows, studying her. “I didn’t realize how many Starks there were until the other day,” she says, and he smiles, rolling his eyes a little. 

“Aye, there’s a whole pack of us,” he laments, and Dany laughs. “Gettin’ ready for school in the mornin’ is a nightmare.” 

They talk for what seems like hours afterwards, smiling and laughing, and Dany thinks it’s a little silly, how fluttery her heart feels in her chest, but she also knows she wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything in the world. Not in that moment. For just a singular night, it feels so nice to be normal. To talk and laugh and smile with a boy she likes, and ignore the harsh realities that her life decrees. That feeling doesn’t fade the entire night, even when Jon follows her up the walk to the front of her apartment building, telling her goodnight with that soft smile of his. He kisses her there under the moonlight, just as sweetly as the first time, and Dany swears that his eyes are golden when they pull away. 

It’s easy to fall into a routine of normalcy, she finds. She walks through the hallways at school hand in hand with Jon, sitting pressed between him and Margaery at lunch. The others may think Jon is quiet and broody most of the time, but around her, he melts, his expressions soft and his touch gentle. They talk in hushed whispers when they get to do group work in English, Jon’s lips ticking up in that little smile whenever she makes a joke, retorting back with his own dry, witty remarks. He makes her _happy,_ she finds. Happier than she’s been in a long, long time. 

She comes home from a night out with Jon a week later to find Viserys and Rhaegar at the kitchen island, Rhaegar’s shirt off and the first aid kit on the counter. “Oh my gods,” Dany says, dropping her bag in the doorway, rushing over to her brothers. “What _happened?”_

“Well, Vis was right, it’s a pack,” Rhaegar says, wincing as Viserys cleans a wound on his shoulder. Three gashes, finger width apart. One of the wolves had gotten its claws into him.

“Is it dead?” Dany says, mouth set in a hard line as she stares at the wound. “The wolf who hurt you. Is it dead?” 

“No,” Viserys says bitterly. “But I got him in just about the same spot. Valyrian steel, too. It’ll take a while to heal, if it doesn’t fester.” 

“How did this happen?” Dany says, reaching for the first aid kit, for the needle and thread there. Her stitches have always been miles better than Viserys’. 

“You know how another person disappeared yesterday,” Rhaegar says, leaning back as Dany threads the needle, wiping it with disinfectant. She nods. It had been all anyone would talk about at school. 

“Hold still,” Dany says, leaning over Rhaegar’s arm to stitch up the wounds. 

“We went out looking for the body,” Viserys says. “Couldn’t find it, but the wolves found us.” 

“Which had been part of the plan,” Rhaegar says, wincing as Dany begins her neat stitches. “But we hadn’t counted on there being _so bloody many_ of them.” He sighs. “We’re going to have to find out who they are, take them out while they’re in human form. We’ll never be able to fight them all off without calling in for backup.”

“How many?” Dany says sharply. 

“Eight or nine,” Viserys says. “And it sounded like there were more. I’ve never seen a pack so large.” He gives Dany a look. “We could have used you there, little sister.” 

Dany bristles, thinking of the night she had spent with Jon, the two of them snuggled together in a little cafe downtown, chatting and laughing and basking in each other. Guilt fills her suddenly, because she _knows_ this has become a trend. Shirking her responsibilities in favor of being with Jon. “I know you have friends here, but you should try to remember every now and then why we’re _really_ here.” 

“Stop it, Vis,” Rhaegar huffs as Dany moves to the next gash. “She’s a kid. Let her live a little.” 

“I’m not a _kid,”_ Dany snaps, glaring at her brothers. “I am just as capable of hunting down these _monsters_ as you two are.” 

“I know,” Rhaegar says, giving her a look. “I taught you myself, like how Dad taught me. You think I would baby you in that sense?” 

“No,” she says, looking down, continuing to stitch up the wound. She knows Rhaegar and Viserys have taught her well, not held anything back. She knows the Targaryen legacy, and she knows how to uphold it. For centuries and centuries, her family has hunted werewolves. And all their knowledge, generations and generations worth, she carries in her. 

“Regardless of how good you are at this, you _are_ a kid,” Rhaegar insists. “You’re seventeen years old, Dany. You should get to live like a kid every once and awhile.” 

“I don’t want to live like a kid,” she says hotly, tying off the stitches neatly. “I want to kill these _monsters_ before they can slaughter anyone else.” 

“And we will,” Viserys says, leaning against the counter. “But remember—” his eyes burn into hers, the same hue as her own— “once we _do_ kill them, we’ll leave again.” 

She nods, because that’s obvious. But still, she can’t help the pang in her heart at the thought of leaving Winterfell. Leaving Margaery and her other friends. 

Leaving _Jon._

***

They find the body on Sunday, just as mangled and gruesome as the others that have been found. 

“Just the one this time,” Rhaegar muses as Dany makes herself breakfast Monday morning, her two brothers poring over photos of the found body. “Vis, do you think you could do some research on the victims, see if there are any similarities? Knowing if there’s any pattern in who they’re going after could help us ID the wolves.” 

“Can I see?” Dany asks. Viserys slides the photo across the island towards her— it has CONFIDENTIAL stamped across the middle, so she’s assuming he hacked the police station again. 

“You sure you wanna see that before you eat?” Rhaegar asks, but Dany just makes a face at him, taking in the photo. 

“I can do research too,” Dany says. “I have to do a project for history on legends related to the North. I could see if there’s anything in the school library that could help.” 

“Sure,” Rhaegar says with a nod. “That would be great.” 

She’s distracted all through her morning classes, thinking of the pictures of the body. They’re already five minutes into their lunch break when she realizes Robb isn’t at his usual place across from Margaery at their table. 

“Where’s Robb?” she asks Jon, nudging him with her shoulder. He looks down, taking another bite of his sandwich. 

“Home sick,” he says with a shrug. But there’s something about the way he avoids her eyes that sends a flicker of doubt running through her mind. 

She’s quiet for the rest of lunch, put off by it. But she’s being ridiculous, she’s sure. What cause would Jon have to lie about where his brother is? She’s probably just being paranoid, with thoughts of the werewolves at large still occupying a large portion of her mind. 

Robb returns to school the next day, still looking a bit under the weather, and Dany spends about an hour in the library after school ends for the next two days, poring over the old, dusty books from the back shelves that no one ever touches, looking for anything helpful. As exaggerated as they may be, legends are generally based in fact, and in a place like the North, where people grow up and stay close to the same place all their lives, legends from the past could be the key to solving the mystery of the present. 

Jon finds her there on Wednesday, shuffling through dusty old tomes with no useful information whatsoever. “What are you doin’?” he asks, leaning in from behind her, caging her in with his solid, strong arms, and her heart flutters as he leans down to kiss her in greeting. 

“Research for a history project,” she says, smiling sweetly at her boyfriend. It’s only half a lie, anyways. 

“Yeah? What’s the project?” he asks, taking the seat next to her. 

“How legends often shape history,” she says, and Jon shifts in his chair, taking in the book she’s looking through. 

“I can help, if you want,” he volunteers. 

“Oh, no, Jon, I’m not going to make you do my homework for me,” she says, though she can’t help but smile at his offer. Sometimes she remembers what Margaery had said about Jon at first, and it makes her want to laugh. Sure, at times he’s sullen and broody, but most of the time Dany thinks about moments like this, and all she sees is how _sweet_ he is. How kind, and caring, and good, right down to his soul. 

“No, I know,” he says, shaking his head, giving her a look. “I’m not doin’ even more homework than I have to, Dany.” She laughs at that. “But I have a lot of old books on the town’s history and lore at my house. My family’s lived here since it was founded, practically. My dad’s library is full of old stuff that could help.” 

“Really?” she asks, perking up. Things actually here since the town’s foundation— that could definitely help. 

“Aye,” he says. “You want to come over tomorrow after school?” 

“That would be great,” she says, smiling widely. “Thank you, Jon, really.” 

“Anythin’ for you,” he says, giving her that little grin he saves just for _her,_ and oh, her heart aches, thinking of how much she cares for this boy. 

Jon drives her to his house after school the next day, her jaw dropping when they finally come to the end of the drive. “I know,” he says meekly, glancing over at her. “It looks a lot more impressive than it is, I promise.” 

Her boyfriend lives in a _castle,_ apparently, and it is every bit as impressive on the inside as the outside. 

“Here,” Jon says, leading her into the library, showing her the shelves of old books. Her eyes widen as she looks at all the spines, taking in the titles. 

She sighs softly in disbelief, eyes flitting around the room. But her sight lands on something outside— beyond the large glass doors of the library, she can see a tree outside, stark white with blood red leaves. 

“What is _that?”_ she says in awe, stepping closer to the doors. Jon takes her hand, opening the door and leading her outside. 

“It’s a weirwood,” he says, the two of them walking over to the tree. 

“Wow,” Dany says, reaching out to stroke the snowy bark. She can feel the power beneath the centuries old wood, her heart racing at it. 

“They used to be really common in the North, but they’ve all been cut down now, mostly,” Jon tells her. “This one’s been here since the house was built.” 

“It’s incredible,” Dany says. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen.” 

“They’re said to have been sacred to the Children of the Forest, and the Old Gods,” Jon tells her. She nods, like she doesn’t already know that. Like he’s not leaving out the most important part about these old, powerful trees.

Even when they go back inside, looking through the books and attempting to work on homework and then inevitably ending up tangled together on Jon’s couch, her lips swollen from his hungry kisses, the pounding of her heart isn’t just because of him.

“I know why there’s such a large pack here,” Dany announces when she comes home, Rhaegar and Viserys looking up from the research laid out between them on the counter. 

“What do you mean?” Viserys asks, squinting at her. 

She puts her hands on her hips, heart still pounding just thinking about it. “There’s a fucking _weirwood_ planted in the middle of the town.” 

Jon had been right, about the history of weirwoods. How they used to be sacred to the Children of the Forest, eons ago, and how they were said to be the eyes of the Old Gods. But the most important part— the one thing he had left out— was that the very, very few left in the world act as beacons to the supernatural. The white bark holds immeasurable power behind it, a magic buzzing in every blood red leaf that attracts and gives power to supernatural creatures. 

And the Starks don’t even know the true meaning of the tree growing in their backyard. 

_“What?”_ Rhaegar says, eyes going wide. “Where? How did you find it?” 

“It’s in Jon’s backyard,” she says, but then both her brothers squint at her curiously, and her breath catches, realizing her mistake. 

“Who’s Jon?” Viserys asks, an accusatory note to his voice, and Dany steels herself. 

“Jon’s my… friend,” she finishes lamely. Both her brothers peer at her, a little disbelieving. 

It’s not that she’s not allowed to have a boyfriend. She’s seventeen years old, and she can do what she damn well pleases with her heart. But she can already sense the apprehension in Rhaegar, the disapproving glint to Viserys’s eyes. They’re not here to make friends, as they keep reminding her. And a _boyfriend…_ well, that’s never a wise idea for people in their line of work. 

And yet, she still doesn’t question what she feels for Jon. Not for a single second. 

“That does make sense, I suppose,” Rhaegar says, seemingly pushing aside her mention of Jon and half-assed explanation. “A weirwood would certainly attract a pack of that size.” He sighs, looking down at the papers littering their counter. “What I don’t understand is why it’s taken till _now_ to attract them.” 

“That’s what I was wondering too,” Dany says, leaning down to unzip her bag, hauling out books she’d taken from the library for her research project. “There’s legends of wolves in this town dating back _centuries._ It makes sense, with the way everything in the bloody town seems to have “wolf” in the name.” She flips open one of the books to a page she’d bookmarked earlier.

“There are stories in here about men turning into wolves, disappearances, people left in the woods as sacrifices to the monster. Textbook werewolf lore,” she says. Rhaegar and Viserys peer at the page, the old illustration next to the text. “But based on these, it would seem like the wolves have _always_ been here. So why have they just begun killing again now, _hundreds_ of years later?” 

“Change of leadership, maybe,” Viserys says with a shrug. “Maybe there’s a new alpha. A more violent one.” 

“Maybe they left and came back?” Rhaegar suggests. “Though it seems fucking unlikely with a weirwood in the middle of the town.” 

“Exactly,” Dany says. She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I just… I feel like we’re missing something here.” 

“I know,” Viserys agrees, clenching his jaw. His eyes harden, staring at the papers covering the counter, and for a moment, Dany can’t help but see their father. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Rhaegar says, but he sounds tired. Frustrated. “We always do.” 

The _or else_ hangs in the air between the three of them. Or else more people will die. Or else the monsters will continue to run free. 

And that is something they cannot let happen. 

***

Winter in the North is unlike anything Dany has ever experienced. It’s not _true_ winter yet, Jon likes to remind her with a teasing smirk, but it feels like it to her. The wind is biting and cold, the grass sparkling with frost every morning as she sprints up the walk into school and out of the freezing air. 

And with the cold, the disappearances stop. 

It’s truly amazing, Dany thinks, how little time it takes for life to go back to normal for the people of Winterfell. The police keep working— inadequately— of course, trying to solve the murders. But they make no headway, and it drops off the news. The curfews are lifted, people forget about the bodies that have been found mangled in the woods, and life goes on. 

She doesn’t forget. Neither do her brothers. Even if it seems the werewolves have given up, they continue on their search. 

Three full moons come and go, and each one of them, Dany is sure the other shoe is about to drop. That the disappearances are about to begin again. That more people are going to die. 

And each one passes by without even a whisper of the supernatural. 

Sometimes Dany thinks it feels like she’s living two lives. There’s the life where she and her brothers hunt for monsters, search desperately for any clue that will help them take down the killers. They have no hope of ever taking out a pack so large without discovering the people behind the monsters, developing a clever plan to cripple them. 

And then there’s the life where she’s a normal high school student, with homework and friends and _Jon._

When she first came here, all she wanted to focus on was the job to do. School served a purpose— a means to an end for finding out information, keeping tabs on everyone in town. But now, the more time passes, the more her lives seem to be separating. She doesn’t listen as carefully for whispers in her classes. Instead, she chats with Margaery, focuses on her classwork, exchanges notes and smiles with Jon. 

There’s a fleeting sense of guilt, every time she pushes off her _real_ responsibilities. But feeling _normal—_ oh, it’s simply too good to give up. 

“I swear to the gods, it’s true!” Margaery declares at lunch one day. It’s been a week since the last full moon, and still— nothing. 

“C’mon, Marge,” Robb says, rolling his eyes and nudging her with his shoulder. “You’re just tryin’ to impress us.” Dany snorts under her breath, because she can tell from the glint in Robb’s eyes he’s insinuating Margaery wants to impress _him._ Which, of course, is not entirely off base. 

Jon has a similar reaction, rolling his eyes at his cousin, before returning to his lunch. He rests his free hand on Dany’s thigh under the table, thumb tracing patterns into her skin, and she can feel the warmth of his touch even through her jeans. 

“I’m telling the truth, _Robb,”_ Margaery says, eyes blazing. “Just because _you_ insist on doubting everything I say—” 

“Hey,” Jon murmurs, and Dany turns towards him, heart thumping at the little smile tugging at his lips, their friends’ words fading into the background. “We’re havin’ a big dinner at my house this weekend— and I was wonderin’ if maybe you’d like to come. Meet the rest of my family.” 

Dany blinks, taken aback. That’s… that’s a _big_ step, isn’t it? She doesn’t exactly have a benchmark to base their relationship upon, but. That feels important. 

And yet— it also fills her stomach with excited butterflies. Jon means a lot to her, but to hear that she means just as much to him, that he wants her to meet his _family—_ well. 

“Really?” she asks, voice soft, and Jon nods, eyes fixed on hers. 

“Okay,” she asks, and Jon grins again, the corners of his mouth ticking up, in just that way he does for her. 

Dinner is overwhelming and a little nerve wracking, but it’s also wonderful, all of the Starks crowded around their huge dining room table together, the noise and chatter and clinking of silverware as everyone talks and eats. Jon’s mother is lovely, and most of his cousins she already knows, Robb teasing the two of them incessantly while Sansa rolls her eyes at him. She can hardly stop smiling the entire night, her face beginning to hurt a little when Jon finally tugs her outside to his car to drive her home. 

She thinks of Lyanna’s friendly smile, Jon and his cousins’ banter throughout the meal, all his aunts and uncles. Sometimes, she wonders what it would be like to have a family like that. Not just her two brothers and the life that’s been handed down to them. 

“Did you have a good time?” Jon asks when he puts his car in park outside her building, and she smiles one more time, his eyes shining in the moonlight. 

“Yes,” she assures him, and she means it with every fibre of her being. 

Jon just looks at her for a moment, and the intensity of his gaze— it blows her away. He looks at her like she’s the entire world, right there in front of him. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs, and before she can say another word he has her gathered in his arms, kissing her fervently. 

Her heart races wildly in her chest as Jon explores her mouth with his tongue, hands leaving trails of fire down her sides. They kiss until they’re both breathless, smiling at each other as their noses bump, Jon’s hands tangled in her hair and hers underneath the hem of his sweater. 

She wishes she could stay with him in his car forever. Foolishly, she wishes she never had to return to the real world, where there’s work to be done and supernatural creatures to hunt down. In the moment, all Dany wants is to stay here with Jon, to kiss him breathless once again, forget about the rest of the world for just a bit longer. 

Even if her cheeks hurt, she still can’t stop smiling the entire walk up to her flat. 

One of the kitchen lights is still on when she opens the door, her eldest brother seated at the counter in the dim room, looking weary and worn down. His head snaps up when Dany walks in, and she immediately tries to school her expression into something more neutral. 

It doesn’t work, she can tell. 

“You were out late,” Rhaegar comments, patting the seat next to him once Dany takes off her coat, hanging it up by the door. 

“I know,” she says, perching on the barstool. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, don’t apologize. I’m glad you’re having fun.” He smiles at her, and even though he’s clearly exhausted, the sincerity of it reaches his violet eyes. 

“Mm,” she hums, looking down at the papers spread before him. Case files. Pictures. Research and data they’ve collected over the years. Every resource imaginable, and still, there’s a missing piece to the puzzle. 

“I should be helping you with this,” she says, meeting Rhaegar’s gaze. “I’m sorry, truly. I know I’ve been slacking, and I haven’t been as much help as I should be—” 

“Stop it, Dany,” her brother interrupts with a roll of his eyes. “Honestly. You’re allowed to live your life, you know.” He exhales, looking down at the jumbled mess again. “There isn’t much to go on right now anyways. The disappearances have just _stopped,_ like the entire fucking pack just vanished into the wind.” He heaves a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Which is good, I suppose, that no more people are dying. But it makes the wolves bloody hard to catch.” 

“Mm,” she hums, eyes skating over the papers again. “It still feels like there’s a massive piece missing, doesn’t it?” she asks quietly. “Like as soon as we have it, everything will fall into place. But until then— it’s just some horrible waiting game.” 

“Exactly,” Rhaegar says. “I’m sick of trying to solve these riddles. I’ve never seen a pack behave like this before.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I just want to kill the bloody wolves and be done with it.” 

Dany remains silent. Of course, she wants the wolves dead. She wants the people of Winterfell to be safe again. But there’s also the inevitability that comes with finally hunting down the wolves. 

Leaving. 

“So,” Rhaegar says, voice lighter, and Dany looks over to him, startled to see the sly grin creeping across his face. “Did the reason you were out so late have anything to do with this friend of yours? _Jon,_ his name is?” 

Dany can feel her cheeks heat up, eyes casting down. “Maybe,” she says, refusing to meet her brother’s eyes. He just laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Stop acting like it’s some crime, Dany,” he tells her, nudging her shoulder with his. “Who is this boy? Tell me about him.” 

“Oh, gods,” she says, burying her face in her hands for a moment, trying not to giggle at the absurdity of the situation. “Well, we go to school together. He’s in a bunch of my classes, and he plays rugby. He’s really good,” she says, because she’s watched countless practices by now, has been to many a game with Margaery, and it never fails to astound her how talented Jon is. How gracefully he moves, how he always seems to know where to go a moment before it happens. 

“I… I don’t know,” she says, meeting Rhaegar’s eyes, and his expression is so soft it makes her drop all her defenses for a moment. “I really like him. He makes me feel… _happy._ Special.” She exhales, not sure if she dares say the next word. She’d never mention it to Viserys, not if her life depended on it. But Rhaegar— well. He’s always been more understanding. 

“He makes me feel normal,” she admits, and her brother’s eyes become unreadable. Immediately, shame floods her for even daring to think that. She’s never been normal, she knows. And what they’re doing now is much more important than normalcy. 

“Sorry,” Dany mumbles, eyes casting down. “I shouldn’t have even said that. I know that’s not why we’re here.” She can just hear their father snapping at her for even _thinking_ something like that. She’s a Targaryen. And she shouldn’t be letting herself get distracted by a boy. By friends. By the semblance of a normal life. 

“Daenerys,” Rhaegar says, tone a little more stern. She looks up, meeting her brother’s eyes, her racing heart immediately put at ease by the empathy in his gaze. 

“You don’t have to feel sorry for wanting to feel normal,” he tells her, squeezing her shoulder. “You’re still young, you know.” She gives him a look, because he knows that she _hates_ that reasoning. Just because she’s young doesn’t mean she isn’t capable of being a good hunter. 

“I know this is a way of life for us,” Rhaegar continues. “That it always has been. But it’s also _your life._ Make sure you’re doing what you want to do with it.” 

“This is what I want to do,” she tells him, nodding towards the papers spread before them. “I want to catch killers. I want to stop monsters from hurting people.” Their family’s code rings in her head, the words she’s recited since she was a girl, since she first learned what it meant to be a Targaryen. 

_We hunt those who hunt us, with fire and blood._

That’s who she is. That’s who she’ll always be. 

Even if sometimes, a small, foolish part of her heart wishes it wasn’t. 

***

Dany’s not sure when exactly she and Jon began doing all their homework together, but she’s fairly positive there’s a strong correlation between that date and the date that her homework started taking her _much longer._

“I don’t know if this is right,” she says, squinting at his pre-calculus homework. They’re actually being somewhat productive today, and Dany thinks it’s mainly due to the fact that they have a test in this subject tomorrow. Half her notes are spread out before her where she’s sprawled out on Jon’s bed, a sea of numbers staring back at her. 

Jon turns around in his desk chair, meeting her eyes. She props her chin in her hands, trying not to let herself get distracted by the fondness in his gaze, even if it makes her heart beat faster. 

“What d’you mean?” he asks. She looks back down at his paper, which he’d handed to her to compare with hers.

“For optimization, you have to treat the variables like they’re functions, don’t you? And apply the chain rule?” 

He blinks. “Er, that sounds vaguely familiar, I suppose,” he admits. 

“I’ll text Margaery and ask her,” Dany says, reaching for her phone. “She’s some sort of secret genius, you know. She told me she finished pre-calculus three years ago.” 

Jon just smiles at her, the butterflies in her stomach speeding up. 

“So now what?” he asks. “We just wait?” 

Dany smirks, arching one eyebrow. “I suppose so,” she begins. “What do you want to do until—” 

She doesn’t finish her question, because Jon is already out of his chair, moving towards her and leaning over so that his lips cover hers. 

She smiles into his kiss, arms wrapping around him as he settles next to her on the bed, twining a hand through her hair. “I meant _homework,”_ she whispers against his mouth, and Jon groans. 

“We’ve done enough bloody homework,” he mumbles, kissing her again. And really, she finds, Jon makes a very good point.

Dany knows that she hasn’t had a lot of experience with boys or relationships or any of that— her lifestyle isn’t exactly… _accomodating_ to those sorts of things. But still, the way her heart hums every time Jon’s around her, the way he sends shivers down her spine when he looks at her, the way he makes her feel important and beautiful and wanted— it can’t just be some teenage romance, can it? It feels like so much more. It feels like a story that’s leapt off the pages of a book, or something straight from a movie. It feels like _everything._

She’s never been in love before, but sometimes she thinks that might just be what she feels for him.

Jon’s hands creep underneath her shirt as he kisses her harder, and hers do the same, tracing over all his smooth, warm muscle, loving the way it tenses under her fingertips. Jon rolls them over so that he’s hovering over her, shoving all their math notes off the bed ungracefully. Dany laughs, and her boyfriend’s responding smile is so rare, so beautiful, that her heart feels as if it may burst. 

Sometimes she wishes everyone else could see these sides of Jon— all the different facets of him, the ones she knows so well. She wishes people knew how clever he is, how funny he can be when he wants to be, with that dry wit of his. How wonderful and sweet he is. How when he truly smiles, it’s like the sun coming out.

But then other times, she thinks it’s even more special, that he only shows those sides to _her._

She’s so lost in the feeling of his lips upon hers, the fire roaring in her belly, that she doesn’t even realize her fingers are pulling at his shirt until it’s half off him, all that beautiful toned muscle on display. He smiles into the kiss, tugging at hers in exchange. He’s taken her shirt off a few times before, but something about this— this feels different. This feels _significant,_ amplified by the way Jon looks at her when they pull apart. 

This is all new to Dany, but _gods,_ she wants this. Wants this with Jon. 

She kisses him again as one of his hands comes up to play with her breast, kneading it between his fingers, nudging the fabric of her bra to the side. A thrill runs though her at the feeling of his tongue in her mouth and his hands upon her, making her buck up against his hips, her nails digging into the muscles of his shoulders. 

Dany lets her instincts take over, her hands roaming over his body, and she almost giggles when she squeezes his arse and he groans. “Gods, Dany, you’re drivin’ me mad,” he whispers, voice hoarse. Her bra is practically off now, the cups pushed down and out of the way so Jon could ravage them with his lips, so she props herself up on her elbows, undoing the clasp and pulling it the rest of the way off. 

His breath catches, eyes taking her in hungrily, and for just a moment, nerves bunch up in her stomach. But then he looks at her, and the adoration in those grey eyes is so palpable that any fear disappears in an instant. 

Jon tugs her up so they’re both sitting, her straddling his legs, and then his hands are _truly_ everywhere, the need to support his weight disappeared. She gasps as he traces kisses down her chest, fingers leaving trails of fire as they trace down her back. 

Time seems to slow as Jon worships her body, exploring every curve of her. It’s almost too much, the sensation of his touch everywhere at once. But all she wants is _more,_ kissing him hungrily, hoping he understands. 

Jon pulls away a moment later, breathing labored as her fingers hover at the waistband of his jeans. Her eyes flutter open, finding his, knowing the question he’s about to ask without needing to hear the words. 

Her heart is beating like a jackhammer in her chest, but there isn’t a shadow of doubt in her mind as she slowly, almost imperceptibly, nods. 

Jon exhales, leaning down to kiss her again, shorter this time. “You sure?” he whispers, and she hums against his lips. 

“Yes,” she whispers back, hands linking behind his neck, pressing her chest against his, skin to skin. He smiles just a little, the corners of his lips twitching up, before he’s kissing her again, undoing the button of her pants with one hand as he lays her down on the bed once again. 

She knows what comes next, even if she’s never done this before. And while it’s a little scary, nerves fluttering in her stomach, she trusts Jon. She _wants_ this, because it’s _him._

It’s a little awkward, both of them buzzing with nervous energy, and it feels a little strange at first, but Jon is sweet, and gentle, and he looks at her like she’s the sun as he holds her face, moving inside her. And afterwards, he wraps her up in his arms, holding her close, and gods, she just… everything feels so _perfect._

“You’re amazing,” she whispers into his shoulder, dropping a kiss there afterwards, and he chuckles, hands tangling in her hair. 

“So are you,” he tells her earnestly, that smile tugging at his lips again. 

She closes her eyes, basking in the afterglow, just sucking up Jon’s warmth. He sighs into her hair, pressing a kiss to her crown, and Dany wants to stay in that moment forever, never go back to the world of werewolves and werewolf hunters, the life of codes and family traditions and violence and death that has been forced upon her, ever since she was small. 

For once, wrapped up in Jon’s arms, she finally admits to herself: she wishes she wasn’t a Targaryen. She wishes she was just _normal._

***

Dany should have known, she thinks, that this wonderful rush of normalcy and peace would never last. 

A week later, the temperatures hit below zero for the first time in the season, and a blanket of snow covers everything in dazzling white overnight. 

And then seven people go missing. 

Whatever sense of calm had settled over Winterfell since the disappearances had stopped comes crashing down, shattering around them all. The whispers start up in school again. Two of the missing people were students, and a third a true child, only ten years old. All of them vanished without a trace, and the police can find absolutely no string to connect them all. 

Neither can Dany and her brothers. The entire town goes into panic mode, and she gets home from school with her heart pounding, her homework the least of her worries. 

“Did you find anything?” she asks Viserys and Rhaegar, both of them circling the living room, which has been transformed over the course of the day. Every photo, every shred of evidence, every single theory and hunch they have is mapped out before them, papers laid out on every surface, as if something might provide an overlooked clue to how to stop the murders. 

“Not yet,” Viserys says bitterly. Rhaegar twirls a pencil between his fingers, studying the organized chaos. 

“There are rumors of them shutting down the school,” Dany says, both her brothers turning to look at her. “And ordering everyone to shelter in place until the killer is caught.” 

“How—” Viserys starts, but Dany just shrugs. 

“Margaery’s grandmother is on the town board.” 

“This is bad,” Rhaegar mutters, still staring at the sprawling mess of a case before them. “This is…” He sighs. “For months, _nothing,_ and then out of nowhere, seven more disappearances. This seems… premeditated, almost.” 

“Which is unlike every single werewolf we’ve ever encountered,” Viserys spits. 

“It doesn't make sense,” Dany says, gritting her teeth. She looks between her brothers, the frustration that’s been building all day finally bubbling over. Ever since she had first heard about the disappearances, seen how everyone at school was tense and terrified and on edge, her little bubble of being a normal person with a normal life had been shattered, those foolish, girlish hopes disappeared like smoke. All that’s left now is bitter anger at these _monsters_ for killing more innocent people. 

“Let’s just go,” Dany finally says, crossing her arms. Her brothers turn to look at her, Rhaegar’s eyes sharp. 

“Forget the clever plans,” she continues, voice tired and fed up and full of venom. “They’re in the Wolfswood somewhere. We have weapons. We know what we’re doing. Let’s just go _find_ them and end this.” 

Rhaegar sighs. “That backfired spectacularly last time we tried.” 

“I wasn’t there last time,” she says. “‘The dragon has three heads,’ right? So let’s just go and kill the fucking things. Before they hurt anyone else.”

“No offense, Dany, but I’m not sure you being there will make _that_ much of a difference,” Rhaegar says, and she blinks, his words like a slap to the face. “There are still nearly a dozen wolves out there.”

Viserys rakes a hand through his hair, eyes casting over to the chest in the corner with all their weapons. “That may be true, but nothing else is working,” he says. “At this point, what do we have to lose?” Rhaegar looks at him sharply, violet eyes burning. 

“Our _lives,”_ he retorts. “Seven people were just _murdered,_ Viserys.” 

“Seven innocent people who don’t know what the supernatural are,” Dany argues back. “We know what we’re doing, Rhaegar. We can _do_ this. Together.” 

Her eldest brother sighs, but she can see in the way his shoulders sag that he’s already given in. “Fine,” he relents, looking between the two of them. “We are going to be armed to the _teeth,_ though. No taking chances. It’s already unwise to go up against a pack of that size.” 

Dany nods, because she knows this is dangerous. But she also knows it’s wrong to sit idly by while innocent people die when there’s something they could be doing about it. 

As soon as the sun sets, they set out for the wolfswood, knives and guns strapped to them, Dany’s hunting bow across her back. The moonlight is eerily bright through the leafless trees, the forest still and silent around them, aside from the low whistle of cold air through the branches. 

“I fucking hate the cold,” Viserys mumbles, the three of them creeping along like cats. 

“Could be worse,” Dany whispers. She lets out a puff of breath, invisible, as it should be. “This morning it was so cold I could see my breath.” 

“Quiet,” Rhaegar snaps, leading the two of them deeper into the wood. 

Dany’s never been in the Wolfswood at night— it’s unnerving, how different it looks under the cloak of nightfall. The trees seem taller, the shadows darker, the rustling of the leaves more menacing. It seems the perfect place for a monster to lie in wait, like a set right out of a horror movie. 

Silently, they trek through the woods, drawing closer and closer to where the bodies were found last time. The pale moon glistens overhead, glinting dully off of the Valyrian steel knife in Viserys’ hand. She can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, an eerie sense of foreboding sending chills down her spine. 

Distantly, she hears a rustle of leaves, so subtle it’s almost muted. Like someone else out here, trying to keep quiet. 

Dany freezes, listening again for the sound. Another faint rustle echoes towards her, and she can almost picture massive paws as they pad against the earth, the wolves lying in wait. 

Silently, she takes a step forward, holding her breath, signalling for her brothers to follow her. Dany doesn’t take her eyes off the path ahead as she moves quietly, taking care not to alert whatever’s ahead of her presence. The woods are eerily still once again, not a sound echoing among the barren trees. 

Dany exhales, heart still racing, and realizes she can see her breath. 

Her fingers tremble against the hilt of her knife, the air so much colder now. _When did that happen,_ she wonders. It’s freezing now, unlike moments before. 

And then, up ahead, she sees it. Faint, through the trees. A dark silhouette, and a pair of glowing eyes. 

Her heart is thundering in her chest now, and she tries to calm it, not let the wolves know how she’s feeling. Their hearing is good enough that they can hear her heart beating beneath her skin, their senses so sharp that they can smell the emotion rolling off of her. She spent years of her life learning to control her heartbeat, mask her emotions, so that she never gives anything away to her enemies. 

Dany takes one more step forward, the ground sloping down before her to the clearing below, and all of that disappears in an instant, her stomach dropping and panic flooding her body as she sees what lays before her. 

The bodies. All of the people that had gone missing are there, torn to pieces, their limbs and torsos and heads forming a horrifying spiral pattern on the forest floor. 

“Oh my gods,” she exhales, so quiet even she herself barely hears it. There’s another rustle of leaves ahead, and Dany tears her eyes away from the bodies, remembering that the creatures that did this are _right there._

Panicky, Dany turns around, searching for her brothers, but they’re not there. They didn’t follow her to the clearing, and there’s nothing but empty woods behind her. 

And then she hears it. A low, guttural growl, the snapping of twigs as huge paws hit the ground. Her entire body freezes, and generally she’s fearless in situations like this, but that bravery leaves her now, and she remains rooted to the spot as an enormous brown wolf emerges from the trees. 

Her heart races frantically, studying the creature. It’s the biggest wolf she’s ever seen, its head probably coming to her shoulders, if she had to guess. It raises its hackles, growling at her lowly, enormous teeth flashing in the moonlight. Dany’s hand fumbles for her gun, strapped at her side, fingers shaking as the wolf stalks her, its glowing red eyes fixed right on her, unblinking. 

_The alpha,_ she knows. Only alphas have eyes like that. 

The wolf takes pause, surveying the wreckage of bodies before it, as if it hadn’t murdered all those people. Anger sparks in her chest, taking the place of fear momentarily. All those innocent lives lost, and the creature that took them is right there before her. And she has the power to stop this monster. 

Her fingers finally settle on the handle of her gun, and they’re not shaking anymore. The rest of the pack is gone. This is just her and the alpha. 

But then— then. Then the other wolves come. 

One by one, they emerge from the treeline, just as large as their alpha, eyes shining gold and teeth bared. There are too many for Dany to count— some dark brown, some tawny, some almost black as the night sky. One with russet colored fur steps out from behind the alpha, drawing nearer to her. 

Dany knows she’s outnumbered. She knows she should probably run. But there’s something— something _off_ about this. They could have attacked her almost instantly— there are plenty of them, and only one of her. She probably doesn’t even look armed to them, and they must be able to smell the fear rolling off of her. They seem to just stare at her, more perplexed than anything, as if finding a teenage girl wandering among the carnage of their victims is the last thing they expected. 

For a pack so violent, one who takes the time to murder countess people and _display_ their bodies like so, why haven’t they already attacked her? 

And then she hears a distant howl, a wolf with fur as white as snow slinking out from beyond the trees. 

Her heart stops. She’s never seen a white werewolf before, not in all her years of hunting, not in a single book she’s ever read. 

It walks towards her like it’s in some sort of trance, head tilting as it studies her. Dany’s heart races as it approaches, fingers trembling on the hilt of her knife, still hidden behind her back. She almost jumps out of her skin when one of the other wolves growls, but the white one turns, snarling at the other, teeth bared. 

Like it’s… _protecting_ her. 

She’s so dumbfounded that it takes her an extra moment to realize the wolf just _turned its back on her._ Even the strongest of predators would never do that with a strange person, especially when the pack must know there are hunters in the area, after their brush up with her brothers. 

The white wolf draws closer to her, so close that she can feel its breath, its massive paws hitting the ground hardly a foot away. She wants to be scared, she wants to be disgusted— these creatures murder and take life without a second thought. But she’s instead transfixed, unable to move as the wolf lowers its head towards her. 

She meets its eyes, unblinking, unwavering. They glow golden, like the rest, but something behind them— they look almost familiar. 

The wolf whines, bowing its head, and her heart _stops._

She knows where she recognizes those eyes. 

“Oh my gods,” she whispers, fingers slipping off her gun. “I… _Jon?”_

The wolf chuffs, blinking at her, and maybe she’s going _crazy,_ but she reaches out tentatively, fingers barely grazing his fur. His eyes slide closed, pushing his head into her hand, eyes meeting hers again. 

And she can _see._ She can see it right there, behind his eyes. The boy she loves. It seems insane, but she knows it’s him. 

_Jon Snow,_ she remembers Margaery telling her. _Family nickname. No one knows why._

Well, it’s obvious now, her fingers brushing his snowy white coat. 

The other wolves stand unmoving around the clearing, seemingly as confused by the exchange as she is. Her eyes dart to them, and suddenly— the red one, the same color as Sansa’s hair. How Robb had been out sick for days after Viserys stabbed one of the wolves in the shoulder. How good Jon and his cousin are at rugby, their inhuman reflexes, their incredible speed and strength. The _weirwood_ in their backyard.

For just another moment, she’s captivated by the creature standing before her, this creature that is somehow also _Jon._

And then— then reality comes crashing over her. 

Her boyfriend is a werewolf. Her boyfriend is _the werewolf._ His entire family is the pack she and her brothers have been hunting for months. 

The pack that has murdered countless people, ripped their bodies to shreds and left them on gruesome display in the woods. The pack of _monsters._

Horrified, she takes a step back, heart pounding for an entirely different reason. Jon’s head falls, eyes imploring, but then there’s a noise behind her, all of the wolves’ ears perking up. 

The alpha— _Ned Stark,_ Dany realizes, for his coat so resembles the man’s dark hair— howls, and it sends a chill through her, such a powerful, haunting noise. Jon looks at her once more, before turning, all of the wolves bounding away, disappearing back into the trees. 

She’s left there alone in the clearing, completely baffled. 

“Daenerys!” a voice calls behind her, and she turns, relief flooding her at the sight of her brothers. 

“Where in the _hells_ did you go?” Viserys scolds. Rhaegar grabs her, pulling her into a crushing hug. “Fucking hell, we turned around and you were just _gone.”_

“I’m sorry,” she says, because it really wasn’t her intention to do that. “I thought you were behind me.” 

She worms her way out of her brother’s arms, gesturing towards the clearing before them. “You want to see this, though.” 

In a perverse way, she’s almost glad for all the bodies before them, because it undoubtedly overshadows everything else, and she doesn’t have to tell them about the wolves appearing. 

Not yet, at least, as Rhaegar snaps pictures, Viserys drawing closer tentatively. Not yet. It’s… too much to process right now, and she needs time to think. She’ll tell them tomorrow, first thing. 

The sight of the carnage seems to scare her brothers enough to convince them it’s time to leave, and they trek back through the woods again, Dany shivering, though she’s only half convinced it’s from the cold. 

When they arrive back at the car, she can’t see her breath anymore, but she still feels like she’s being frozen from the inside out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, I said a few days and then it took me a month to update. I'm sorry, really. I kinda hated one of the scenes at the end so I completely rewrote it, and then I got lazy, and then I was finishing WTWTA, and... well here we are. But it's DONE now, and I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and again, thank you to Ashley for organizing such a wonderful event!! I promise next year my fic will be finished on time 😂

Dany doesn’t sleep at all that night. 

Not that she expects to. This is one of those life-altering revelations that she knows will steal sleep from her. Instead she tosses and turns, replaying the events of the night over and over in her head, trying to make sense of them somehow. 

Jon is a werewolf.  _ Jon  _ is one of the monsters terrorizing this town. It doesn’t make any fucking  _ sense,  _ because gods, how could a teenager do something like this? How could a person like him be such a cold blooded killer? 

She knows the answer to that. Because he’s a werewolf, and werewolves are monsters. 

Was it all an act, their relationship? Had everything he’d been with her been a lie? How could someone so sweet, so wonderful, someone who looked at her the way he did— how could he be the same person who ruthlessly kills, who takes the lives of innocents without a second thought? 

She turns over, burying her face in her pillow. She wants to scream with frustration. It must all be fake. How— how can the person she’s known, the person she thought she  _ loved—  _ how could they be the same as the monsters she hunts? 

This is what she gets, Dany supposes, for fantasizing about a normal life. Gods, what if Jon  _ knew  _ she was a hunter— what if  _ that  _ was why he’d gotten close to her in the first place? Just to keep tabs on her and her brothers? 

_ Remember why we’re here,  _ Viserys had said, and Dany had forgotten. She had let herself get caught up in the romanticized fantasy of being a normal high school girl with friends and a boy she loved and now… now, it’s all falling to pieces. It’s what she deserves, trying to be something she’s not. 

Well, no more. In the morning, she’ll tell her brothers she knows who the wolves are, and they’ll take them out, and they’ll move on to somewhere else. She’ll go back to being a hunter and nothing else, because that’s what she’s  _ supposed to be.  _

But morning comes, and she doesn’t tell Viserys and Rhaegar. 

Instead, she goes to school. She keeps her head down, brushing off Margaery in homeroom, avoiding her friends in the hallway.  _ Serves you right,  _ the voice in her head mocks, as she sits alone in class. 

She takes one of the empty desks in the back to avoid Jon, and pretends she doesn’t see the hurt across his face as she walks right by him. 

By the end of the day, she’s done a fairly good job avoiding everyone— she hid in the library for lunch, she’s darted to and from class all day and sat in the back of the room, away from her friends. There’s too much turmoil swirling inside of her, too much confusion to try to face Jon or Robb or Sansa today. And there’s a small glimmer of fear there as well. They know who she is, and more importantly,  _ what  _ she is. And they know that she knows who they are now. 

There’s a reason she’d tucked her dagger into the hidden compartment of her backpack today, as absurd as that sounds. 

Dany could cry in relief when the final bell rings, standing up and rushing from her seat. She’s almost made it to the front doors, freedom in sight, when she hears it. 

Her name, echoing down the hallway. And  _ his  _ voice. 

Tears flood her eyes, Dany blinking furiously to force them away.  _ Targaryens don’t cry, _ her father had always said. When he’d tied her up in the basement, told her to break free all by herself— her first true test as a hunter— and the rope had burned into her wrists as she struggled to cut the ties, that had been what he’d told her. She was just twelve years old, tears filling her eyes.  _ Targaryens don’t cry.  _

Rhaegar had helped her clean up the cuts afterwards, wrapping them and bandaging them, telling her that it had taken him an hour longer than her, when he had passed that test. And that had finally made her smile. 

_ “Dany!”  _ she hears again, but she keeps going, ignoring Jon. Pushing through the doors, she searches desperately for somewhere to hide— and her eyes land on the forest, right across the rugby field. Hurriedly, she pushes through the crowd, hoping she’ll lose Jon in the process. Or that he’ll just give up. 

She should have known better. 

The silence of the forest is a welcome respite, leaves crunching underfoot, dappled light filtering through the bare branches. But still, she can hear him behind her, moving just as quickly. 

“Dany,” he repeats, and she relents, turning to face him finally. Jon stops with one withering glare from her, faltering. “I— can we talk?” 

“About what?” she says, words full of venom. Jon blinks at her. 

“You know what,” he says. “Last night.” He exhales, shoving his hands in his pockets as he steps closer. Instinctively, Dany takes a step back, and the hurt that flashes across his face cuts her deeply. 

_ He’s a monster,  _ she reminds herself.  _ And this is all an act. A cold blooded killer like that doesn’t actually care for you.  _

“I know that it seems impossible, what you saw,” he starts. “It’s— it’s hard to explain. Harder to believe, I’m sure.” 

“No,” she says, hands on her hips. “I believe it just fine.” 

“Oh,” he says, brow furrowing. “I— okay.” He pauses, clearly not expecting her to have said  _ that. _ “How—”

“I’ve known about the supernatural all my life,” she spits. “The existence of werewolves doesn’t surprise me.” She steps back again, trying valiantly to ignore the swirl of emotions in her chest, raging like a typhoon. 

“Dany,” he says, eyes so full of pain, and he takes a step towards her, reaching for her. 

“Don’t touch me,” she hisses, darting away, every muscle in her body tensing. “You’re—” Her voice catches, and Dany tries to shove down memories of the past. Of Jon’s sweet smiles, his warm touches. The way it had seemed that maybe, he might love her too.

Those memories are gone now. That normal life, that wistful daydream she’d been living in— now it’s over, reality flooding back in. 

“You’re a monster,” she spits. 

Jon blinks, the look upon his face like she just slapped him. 

“Listen,” he says, hands spreading in surrender. “I know it looks like that. I turn into a bloody _wolf,_ I know. But I would never— we don’t—” He exhales, eyes still locked on hers. “It’s not like that.” 

“Bullshit,” she spits back. “I’ve seen the bodies in the woods. People torn to pieces, mangled beyond belief. You’re going to tell me you’re  _ not  _ a monster after that?” 

His brows furrow again, confusion clouding his face. “Wait a minute—” he starts, but Dany’s had enough. 

_ “No!”  _ she snaps. “Don’t try to defend your kind. I’ve travelled this whole country, following them. I’ve  _ seen  _ the kind of damage they can do! Families ripped apart. Innocent lives lost. I’ve dedicated my whole  _ life  _ to making sure that people aren’t slaughtered by werewolves, as have my brothers, so don’t  _ lie  _ to me about what you are.” She scowls, trying to ignore how thunderstruck Jon looks. “You’re a  _ monster.”  _

He hesitates, studying her, and there’s a cold calculation to his eyes that wasn’t there before. And yet, still beneath, a gleam of despair. 

“And you’re a hunter,” he whispers, realization setting across his face. 

“Yes,” she hisses, trying to ignore how genuinely shocked he looks. Because if he didn’t know— well. That would mean that everything he felt for her is real. 

And now, knowing what she knows, Dany can’t even allow herself to consider that possibility anymore. 

“And your brothers—” Jon exhales, and now he’s the one to take a step away. “They were the ones in the woods that night. The ones that stabbed Robb.” 

“My whole family is made up of hunters,” she says. “We have been, for hundreds of years.” Jon stares at her, gaze empty, still a little shell shocked. “You know the myth that silver kills werewolves, I’m assuming.” 

“Of course,” Jon says, cautious, his voice hard. “It’s not true.” 

“No, it’s not,” she says. “Silver doesn’t kill werewolves. Just the people with silver hair.” 

He exhales, shoulders sagging, looking down to the forest floor. “Did you know?” he asks, voice almost small. His eyes dart up to hers, searching, imploring. Her heart squeezes, because oh— even if he’s a monster, when he looks at her like that, it’s so easy to forget. So easy to remember how much she cares about him. 

_ Cared,  _ she insists, heart splintering in her chest. She can’t care for him anymore. He has to be eliminated. Him and all of his pack. 

“No,” she says, steeling herself, sweeping aside the broken pieces of her heart. There’s no time for that now. This is what she gets, for forgetting her real purpose. 

“If I’d known,” she says, words like ice, “None of this ever would have happened. And my brothers and I would have already finished the job we came here to do.” 

“Dany,” he pleads, voice broken, but she can’t be here anymore. She can feel the tears threatening to flood her eyes, her cheeks hot. She needs to leave. 

This time, when she runs, Jon lets her go. 

***

She tells herself that she’ll tell Rhaegar and Viserys when she gets home, but then she doesn’t. 

The next day comes and goes. And yet again, she keeps her words to herself. 

It’s stupid and reckless not to tell them. They need to know. If they don’t know, how can they stop them, put an end to the slaughter of innocent people in this town? 

They can’t— it’s as simple as that. And obviously Dany  _ wants  _ to stop them, wants Winterfell to be safe again. But she also knows what stopping them means. 

Stopping them means Jon dies. She’s never had an issue with killing werewolves before— they’re monsters, she knows. To think anything else is foolish. But her heart still feels like it’s being ripped in half at the thought of killing  _ Jon.  _ Regardless of what he is or isn’t. 

Her thoughts are incessantly tumultuous, indecision sinking its claws into her, and it’s enough to make her mad. She avoids everyone at school again, though she notices Jon’s stopped trying to flag her down. 

Margaery finds her in the library the next day at lunch, done with her avoidance of all of them. Dany expects her to be mad— she’s been a shitty friend these past days, that’s for sure— but Margaery is nothing but sympathetic, pulling her into a hug the moment she sits down. 

“Oh, Dany,” she says, squeezing her tight. “I heard from Robb. Gods, I’m— I’m so sorry.” 

And Dany is too, for everything. Even if it was her own stupid mistakes that got her into this mess, she still feels broken inside. So she just lets Margaery hold her. 

“Thank you,” she whispers into her friend’s shoulder, blinking back tears. Margaery pulls away, her smile kind, eyes kinder. 

“Of course,” she says, like it’s nothing, before her expression sobers again. “What happened, exactly? Did he hurt you?” Her eyes narrow, fiery and determined. “I swear to the gods, if he hurt you, I will show no mercy to that boy.” 

Dany chuckles a little, but the sound comes off as weak even to her. “No, he didn’t hurt me,” she assures her. Not physically, at least, though clearly he has that capability. She exhales, eyes casting down. “We were just… too different. It never could have worked.” 

Margaery eats lunch with her in the library for the rest of the week, distracting her from her heartbroken misery with talk of other things. Dany knows that keeping this up is probably a mistake, given what a horrible mess she’s in from trying to be normal in the first place, but cutting  _ Margaery  _ out of her life as well— that’s too much for her heart to handle right now. 

Still, when Margaery invites her to a girls’ night, or to hang out with everyone after school, she declines. She can’t allow herself to get that distracted. She needs to stop forgetting who she really is, and do her job. 

“I hope you’re still coming to the winter ball next week,” Margaery says as they both finish off their sandwiches at one of the library tables. Dany’s stomach drops, because with everything else happening, she’d completely forgotten about the upcoming school dance. “Even if you and Jon aren’t together, you’ll still have fun,” Margaery assures her. “I’ll be with you the whole night, I promise. It’ll be good to get your mind off things.” 

“I’m not sure,” Dany tells her apologetically. “I’ll have to see.” 

Really, she thinks, taking her mind off things is the last thing she needs to be doing right now. She should be focusing  _ more  _ on the task at hand, not less. 

She hides in the back section of the library after school, rereading all those books she’d found months back for her history project. Because there’s something that still nags at her brain about the Starks being the werewolves— Jon claims that they’ve been here forever, since the town was founded. But if they’ve  _ always  _ been here, and they’ve  _ always  _ been werewolves, then why did the violence start so recently? 

Maybe she’s just grasping at straws, hoping to find an out. Something to avoid the inevitable looming before her. 

That is, until Viserys texts her an article from the news. More bodies were discovered in the woods, ripped limb from limb and arranged in some other terrible pattern. 

Immediately, rage fills her, like fire racing through every inch of her body. The creatures doing this are nothing less than beasts. And she can’t continue to try to find an out for them. Not when they’re causing this much destruction. 

She hears the sound of footsteps approaching in the silent library, looking up from the book opened in front of her. Her eyes narrow when she realizes who’s walking towards her, anger choking her once again. 

“Dany,” Jon says, his voice cautious. He still walks right up to her, hovering at the other end of the table. “Can we talk?” 

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” she spits. His eyes darken, never leaving hers. 

“Aye, but I do,” he says. “You’ve got it all wrong. You and your brothers.” 

She narrows her eyes, studying him. “What do you mean?” She sounds skeptical, even to her own ears. 

“I mean, we’re not the ones you should be huntin’.” Jon turns, grabbing something from his backpack. “My family has protected this town for centuries. It’s not us doing this.” He drops a book on the table between them— the cover is old and faded, pages fraying. It looks as old as he claims his history here is. 

“What is this?” she asks, voice like steel. But Jon’s expression is just as hard, those eyes that had once been so soft just for her now sharper than her hunting knives. 

“That’s the real enemy.” She arches an eyebrow at him, flipping the book open, looking at the drawing of a creature on one of the first few pages. 

“You know zombies aren’t real, right?” she asks, not even trying to keep the condescension out of her voice. He huffs hotly, and Dany thinks, for the briefest moment, that he looks almost desperate. 

“I know that,” he says. “Not zombies. White Walkers.” 

“White Walkers,” she repeats, trying not to laugh. “Come on now, Jon. You can’t seriously think that you’re going to convince me of this to save your own arse, do you?” 

He leans over her desk, making her heart stop, his fingers clenching at the edge of the polished wood. His lips twitch into a faint growl, low and angry in the back of his throat. And she can see his eyes flash gold, stunning her into silence. 

It hits her again, how dangerous he is. She knows how to protect herself, but Jon could lean over and sink his teeth and claws into her flesh, rip and tear her to shreds if he really wanted to. He’s more powerful than she is, especially in this moment. 

_ And that’s why he needs to be eliminated,  _ a voice that sounds like Viserys whispers in her ear. Even if it makes her heart pang. Even if the thought of killing him— killing  _ Jon—  _ makes her freeze like a deer in the headlights. 

“We’re not the enemy here,” Jon snarls. “Go think whatever you want about my family, about what we are. But you’re huntin’ the wrong thing.” He points at the page, at the drawing there. “Winter is coming. We’ve been saying it for years. And now, it’s finally here.” 

“I know your kind, Jon,” she says, voice low, heart caught in her throat. “I’ve seen the damage they can do. The violence they can cause. I’ve seen the bodies in the woods.” 

He blinks at her, the anger fading away, replaced with something else, something much sadder. “You think you know our kind,” he says. “But Dany, you know me.” Her breath catches, heart pounding in her chest, throbbing as if he’d just pierced it with his claws. 

“At least, I thought you did,” he says, looking up at her with those sad eyes, peering through his lashes. It makes her want to cry, suddenly. 

_ Targaryens don’t cry,  _ she whispers to herself. She thinks of the generations of hunters before her, fearless and strong. How she’s looked up to her brothers her entire life, wanting to be just like that. 

Sometimes she wonders if she ever will be. Or if it’s like her father always said, and she’s just a weak little girl. Destined to be distracted, forget who she really is. 

“I thought I did too,” she snaps, eyes burning. “Imagine how it felt when I found out you were a monster.” 

The look in his eyes conveys it would have been less painful if she’d just stabbed him. 

“Aye, I may be,” he says, looking down at the table, fingers curling around the lip. “But not all monsters do monstrous things.” 

He glances at her one last time, the look in his eyes silencing her, before he turns and leaves. Dany’s heart pounds, breaths shallow, as Jon’s words wash over her. 

Slowly, she looks back down at the book in front of her, still open to the page she’d picked, and tries to ignore the feeling of her heart breaking once again. 

***

Her resolve is set when she finally leaves the school— tonight she’ll tell her brothers. There’s a full moon at the end of next week, which is conveniently the same night that the school is having their dance, luring hundreds of students out into the dark night and its unforgiving terrors. Apparently the town had been on the verge of cancelling it, with all the disappearances, but the students had pleaded for it to go on as planned. 

Bloody fucking fools, all of them, Dany thinks. 

Consequently, something has to be done. She can’t go on keeping this knowledge to herself when people could get hurt, no matter the effect it might have on her heart. She will toughen up and put feelings aside, like she should have from the start, and she will tell her brothers and help them take out the werewolves. 

They’ll make sure this town is safe once again, and then they’ll move on to another place, another monster to hunt, and she’ll forget Jon Snow ever existed. 

But her brothers aren’t home when she returns to their apartment, instead a scribbled  _ went out to get takeaway  _ note on the counter. So Dany retreats to her room, dumping her backpack on her bed, consigning herself to work on homework until they get home and she can come clean. 

Her bag bounces on her mattress, and out falls the book Jon had given her. 

Dany eyes it warily, studying the yellowing pages, the worn cover. She hadn’t really intended to read it, but Jon had just left it there on the table, and she wasn’t about to leave some preciously old book about the supernatural lying around in the library.

Almost without thought, she picks it up, sitting down on her bed and letting it fall open in her lap. 

_ The Long Night,  _ the title page proclaims, Dany flipping further into the book, skimming the pages. It seems like the contents of the books are mainly myths and legends, no concrete facts. Huffing to herself, she keeps flipping through aimlessly. As if a collection of fairy tales would be enough to convince her that Jon and his family truly are blameless in this. 

She’s never even  _ heard  _ of white walkers before. What are the odds that over hundreds of years, tens of generations of hunters in her family,  _ no one  _ ever stumbled upon one of these creatures, if they truly are this dangerous?

Dany rolls her eyes, flipping the page again, not even reading the words anymore. But the image on the next page makes her heart stop, horrific memories flashing through her mind. 

There, in the book, is a simple illustration of a spiral, inky strokes swirling across the page. 

The same spiral she’d seen in the woods, made up of bodies torn limb from limb. 

Pulse racing, she reads the words on the other side page, taking them in hungrily. Human sacrifices, babes left in the woods to appease the old gods. Undead monsters that came with the cold weather, killing for no reason, displaying their victims in grotesque replications of their symbols. 

It’s  _ exactly  _ what’s been happening in Winterfell. 

Dimly, the thought that Jon and his family have clearly read this book and could just be replicating its stories occurs to her, but she pushes it to the side, reading on. There are illustrations of wolves fighting these supposed white walkers later in the book, detailing fights between them centuries ago, back when Winterfell was still a village surrounding the liege lord’s keep, a benevolent ruler with the sigil of a wolf and the name of Stark. 

_ Stark.  _ Their name is in the bloody book, because of course it is. 

Dany doesn’t even hear her brothers come in, only looking up when Rhaegar is in her doorway, offering her dinner. She eats hurriedly, distractedly, before returning to her room, holing herself up to continue reading. 

She learns that apparently, centuries ago, the white walkers had come, nearly wiping out the people of the north, until they were stopped, or thwarted, or  _ something.  _ Without explanation, they disappeared, never seen again. 

Dany blinks, staring at the last page of the book, which was seemingly written closely following their disappearance. Something— a memory, a fragmented piece of something else she’d read before— flashes quickly across her mind, and she scrambles for the stack of books on her desk, rifling through them in search of an almost forgotten fact. 

She finds it finally, eyes scanning the page. One of the books she’d found at school had mentioned violent attacks centuries ago, which she had assumed were werewolf attacks. But— she checks again. The dates match. The disappearance of the supposed white walkers corresponds with the end of the human sacrifices, the mangled bodies in the woods spoken of before. 

Dany closes both books, heart pounding. 

What— what if Jon is  _ right?  _ What if this isn’t them? 

It isn’t even something she should consider. She knows werewolves, how cunning and dangerous they can be. To let one plant such doubt in her mind is a mistake. But— but. It all lines up, and it  _ has  _ been fairly strange behavior for werewolves, and—

What is she  _ thinking?!  _ Mentally, she slaps herself. Jon is trying to save his arse, so that his family can go on killing. He’s  _ scared  _ of her and her brothers, and what they could mean for him. He’s desperate. It can’t be real. 

She has hundreds of years of Targaryen knowledge and expertise backing her up. She can’t let one seventeen year old boy overshadow all of that. Even if she loves him. 

_ Loved  _ him. 

Groaning, she buries her head in her hands. Her heart feels like it’s twisted in knots, her head pounding from overthinking so much. Gods, she just wants this to be  _ over.  _ She wishes she was never stupid enough to fall in love with a werewolf in the first place. 

“Dany?” she hears in the doorway, looking up to find Rhaegar there, backlit from the soft hallway lights. “You alright?” he asks, taking a step into her room, and Dany’s whole body sags. 

“Define ‘alright,’” she jokes, but the humor in her voice is nonexistent. 

“What’s wrong?” Rhaegar asks, coming to sit next to her, leaning back against her desk. He looks at the book still in her lap, eyeing the cover. 

Dany exhales, positive she’s about to lose whatever little faith her brothers have left in her at this point. 

“Have you ever heard of white walkers?” Dany asks, and Rhaegar blinks. 

“No,” he admits. “Why, should I have?” 

She offers him the book, and his eyes go wide when he sees what’s on the page. “This… this is exactly what’s happening here,” he says, a little breathless. “The symbols— the bodies—” 

“I know,” she whispers. “It lines up with other books I’ve read about the history and lore of the town, too, although none of them mention the name exactly. But—” She shakes her head. “What if it’s… these  _ things  _ that’s doing this?” 

Rhaegar’s brow furrows. “You mean, instead of the werewolves?” She nods silently, and her brother pauses, considering. “I will say, this is behavior like we’ve never seen before with werewolves,” he admits. “But that doesn’t mean that these… whatever they are are real. I’ve never heard of white walkers before, not in any of the records our family’s been keeping for centuries.” He shrugs. “I don’t know, Dany. It seems a little far-fetched. It’s probably just really violent wolves with an alpha who wants to be a serial killer too badly.”

“Probably,” she echoes, but her voice sounds hollow. She’s not sure if it’s a gut instinct or some desperate last-ditch effort of her heart to cling to what she had, but something about the white walkers feels significant. Like it’s the missing puzzle piece they’ve been searching for. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Rhaegar asks, arching a brow at her. “Where’d you get this book, anyway?” 

Dany opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. All the grief she’s been trying to bury for the past few days washes over her, the guilt at keeping this to herself mixing in, the heart wrenching confusion ripping her up. “Dany,” she hears her brother say, but it’s almost through a fog, and then her eyes are growing hot, tears blurring her vision. 

She can’t take it anymore. It’s all… it’s all too much. 

“Hey, hey,” Rhaegar says as she crumples forward, burying her face in her hands, body shaking with sobs. “Dany, what’s wrong?” 

_ Gods,  _ her brothers are going to hate her. 

“I know who the wolves are,” she whispers, so quiet it’s almost inaudible. But Rhaegar freezes up, so she knows he heard her. 

“I—  _ what?”  _ he says. “Who?” 

“The Starks,” she manages, voice still choked with sobs.  _ “Jon.”  _

“Oh,” Rhaegar says, and she turns to look at him, finally studying his face. “Oh, shit.  _ Dany.”  _

She expects him to yell at her, to be furious for keeping this to herself. But instead, he tugs her down into his arms, so she’s sitting on the floor next to him, smoothing her hair back as she cries into his shoulder. 

Rhaegar has always been more of a father to her than her actual one was anyway. 

“Hey, hey,” he soothes. “It’s alright, I promise. It’s going to be alright.” 

“I feel so  _ stupid,”  _ she admits, voice thick with tears. “I… how did I not  _ see  _ it before? I spent all this time with him, I  _ loved  _ him, and still…” She sniffles. “Viserys was right. I should have just kept to myself and remembered my job. I shouldn’t have tried so hard to be normal.” 

“No, stop it,” Rhaegar says, shushing her. “Don’t go blaming yourself. Okay? There’s nothing you could have done.” 

She knows that’s not true, but the no-nonsense tone of Rhaegar’s voice lulls her into complicity, so she just sits there as he strokes her hair, and lets herself believe that maybe he’s right. 

***

Rhaegar tells Viserys, which Dany honestly isn’t sure is a relief or not. It’s a relief not to have to speak the words again, but— both of her brothers knowing the truth means there’s no pushing it off anymore. They have to do something about it now. 

They let her stay home from school the next day, both of them speaking quietly while she eats her breakfast. Viserys is the one to finally break the peace, which she should have expected, really. 

“So what’s the plan?” he says, just as Dany finishes her cereal. “We know who they are now. How do we take them out?” 

Dany freezes up, eyes casting down. At least he didn’t say  _ I told you so,  _ she supposes. 

Rhaegar sighs. “I think it’s more complicated than that now, Vis,” he admits. “A lot of that pack is made up of  _ teenagers.  _ Jon’s Dany’s age. The one that we stabbed isn’t even eighteen years old.” 

“What does that matter?” Viserys retorts. “You stabbed that one because he nearly tore your arm off, if you remember correctly. Dany’s the same age, and she’s still a hunter just the same as us. She’s capable of making her own decisions, and so are these wolves.”

“I know,” Rhaegar says, voice hard. “Still, if it was a pack of adults, I wouldn’t hesitate. But I feel sort of strange killing a pack that’s mostly made up of kids.” 

“Do you hear yourself right now?” Viserys says. “They’re not  _ kids,  _ they’re werewolves. Ones that are killing a lot of people in this town right now, if you’ve forgotten.” He huffs. “Did you two suddenly forget we’re dealing with monsters, or something? Who fucking cares how old they are?” 

“Viserys,” Rhaegar says, voice low. Her other brother quiets, eyes steely as he regards Rhaegar. 

“I’m not saying we’re just going to  _ ignore  _ them, let them go on causing violence,” he continues. “But I think this is a little more complicated, now that we know who they are.”

“I don’t see why it needs to be,” Viserys counters. “We’ve been looking for the wolves, and now we know who they are. Honestly, it’s  _ good  _ that it’s the Starks. Dany knows them.” Her eyes widen as both her brothers look to her, Rhaegar looking just as alarmed. “She’s spent months with Jon; knows all about him and his family.” Viserys’s head tilts. “Dany, does he still trust you? Has he tried to make things better between you?” 

Her jaw drops when she realizes what Viserys is suggesting, heart pounding in her chest. “No—” she says, shaking her head. “I’m  _ not—”  _

“Viserys, are you out of your fucking mind?” Rhaegar snaps. “We’re not using Dany as  _ bait.  _ Or as some sort of— undercover agent. I don’t want her anywhere near those werewolves anymore, especially since they know what she is. I don’t want any chance of her getting hurt.” 

“I can handle myself,” she snaps, glaring Rhaegar. “I know how to protect myself. But I’m  _ not  _ spying on Jon. I won’t.” 

“Fine,” Viserys mutters. He frowns, running a hand through his hair, and once again, it’s like her father is standing there right before them, they look so similar. “Do you have any idea of what they might be planning? What they’re after here?” 

“No,” Dany says, sighing. “Jon is insistent that it’s not them doing this.” 

At that, Viserys laughs. “Is he daft? What else could be doing this?” 

Dany shrugs. “He claims something called white walkers is behind it.” 

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Viserys says. “Rhaegar, what do you think?” 

Their oldest brother sighs. “I don’t know. Part of me thinks that it  _ has  _ to be the wolves, but then another part wonders if maybe what they claim is the truth. We’ve said from the beginning it’s strange behavior for a pack. Maybe there really is something else out there.” 

Viserys rolls his eyes, clearly set in his beliefs. “I think you two are letting your feelings cloud your judgement, and it’s going to bite us in the arse,” he says, bitter. “When more people die because you felt too conflicted to fucking  _ do  _ anything, Rhaegar—” 

“Enough,” Rhaegar says, tone deadly, and Viserys quiets. Hunters may not have alphas like wolf packs do, but Dany knows without a doubt that Rhaegar is theirs, as does Viserys. 

“We’re not doing  _ nothing.  _ I just think we shouldn’t act rashly. Regardless of whether it's the wolves or not, this is something unlike anything we’ve ever dealt with.” His eyes dart between the two of them, his mind made up. “Friday is a full moon. If they’re going to act, it’ll be then, I’d be willing to bet.” 

_ “Winter is coming,”  _ Dany whispers. Both her brothers look at her strangely, and she grimaces apologetically. “Sorry. Something Jon said. How they’ve been claiming winter is coming, and now it’s here.” 

“Isn’t Friday the winter solstice?” Viserys says, brows furrowing. 

“It’s also the school dance,” Dany says quietly. “They were going to cancel it, but it’s still on. Everyone in the school will be there.” 

“And that’s a significant amount of the wolves right there.” Rhaegar puts a hand on her shoulder, eyes softening. “Dany, can you go? Keep an eye on them? The winter solstice, the full moon— it has to be then. With you acting as lookout, we’ll know what’s coming. And Viserys and I will be ready for it.” 

The last thing Dany wants to do is go to a school dance, but she can tell what Rhaegar is doing. The fact of the matter is that the Starks need to be eliminated. They’re too dangerous. And Rhaegar is offering her an out, a way to not directly be involved with that. A way to somewhat spare her heart. 

She thinks of Jon, that beautiful, wonderful boy she was in love with. The thought of him lying cold and dead makes her want to cry. But then she also thinks of the bodies, torn limb from limb. Innocent lives taken so brutally and gruesomely. 

Don’t the rest of the people in this town deserve to live without fear of that ever happening to them? No matter the cost? 

_ We hunt those who hunt us, with fire and blood,  _ she hears her father whisper. There is no room in a Targaryen’s heart for weakness. For hesitancy. They have to do whatever must be done in order to protect people. 

“I’ll keep watch,” she agrees, the words like steel in her mouth. Her stomach sinks as if it’s lined with iron, but she hardens her resolve. She can do this. She  _ will  _ do this. 

“And when it all begins, I’ll come with you.” 

***

It snows on the day of the dance, because of fucking  _ course  _ it does. 

Dany goes over Margaery’s to get ready, letting her friend fuss over her hair and makeup, help her into the dresses they’d gotten weeks ago. She’s just going through the motions, her mind occupied with reciting the plan on repeat, nerves fluttering in her stomach. 

Either Jon’s telling the truth or he’s lying, but either way, she knows that it all comes to a head tonight. 

“Hey,” Margaery says before they walk into the school, squeezing her hand tightly. Dany blinks, looking over to her friend, trying not to let it show how distracted her mind is. “It’s going to be alright, Dany, I promise. I’ll be with you all night.” 

“Thank you,” she says, shoulders sagging a little, because truly, having her friend at her side is a relief. She’s glad that when her whole world was turned upside down with the revelation about Jon, at least Margaery’s presence in her life hasn’t changed. 

The other girl ushers her into the building, Dany’s eyes going wide when they step into the gym, decorated to the nines for the dance. It looks like an entirely different place, sparkling lights and streamers hung across the ceiling, balloons and paper snowflakes filling the air. Music booms through the room, a crowd of their classmates already jumping up and down in time to the beat in the cleared space before the DJ. 

Bitterness fills Dany’s stomach for just a moment. She’d been looking forward to this night for weeks, excited to dance with her friends, her  _ boyfriend.  _ Feel like a normal teenage girl. And now, all she can focus on is the nerves fluttering in her stomach, knowing what’s about to come. Yet another thing that the supernatural have taken from her. 

_ You’re not a normal teenage girl,  _ she reminds herself, crossing her arms.  _ The sooner you remember that, the better.  _

But then, of course, the one person who used to make her forget that comes into view. 

Jon looks  _ good,  _ her heart aching as she takes him in in his suit, his messy curls shining in the flashing lights. But he also looks tense, she realizes, and it makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Robb and Sansa are with him, the three of them in a huddle, speaking quickly and quietly about something. 

Clearly, Dany thinks, they have a plan for tonight as well. 

She’s just about to turn back to Margaery when Jon looks over at her, piercing eyes meeting hers, and his expression shifts, something almost like worry flickering across his face. She stands frozen like a deer in the headlights, and she can feel his cousins staring at her as well, but she can’t tear her eyes away from Jon. 

“Hey,” Margaery whispers, and Dany starts, the trance broken. “Come on, let’s go dance. I already told Robb to keep Jon away from us, alright? You don’t have to worry.” 

She wonders how that conversation went, between the two of them. Dany’s sure that Robb was more than happy to keep away from her all night, now that he knows what she is. 

She and Margaery join the crowd of their classmates dancing, and Dany finds herself laughing and smiling as they jump along to the music. Margaery twirls her around, both of them giggling like schoolgirls, not caring for a moment what they look like or how horribly offbeat they might be. And for a moment, Dany lets herself forget. Forget the fight to come. Forget the nerves gnawing at her insides. 

But just for a moment. 

She scans the crowd subtly every few minutes, searching for the wolves. Sansa’s bright hair shines like a beacon, so she’s always easy to locate. And Robb and Jon always are close by, the three of them practically inseparable. 

Like a pack that’s waiting for something to happen. 

Dany has a feeling Margaery knows she keeps looking for them, but she hopes that it just comes off as desperation to avoid Jon to her friend. Still, they dance and they dance, until Dany’s feet are sore and her face hurts from smiling so much. She’s not sure how much time has passed, but all of a sudden the dance is winding down, the DJ putting on a slow song as the night draws to a close. 

Margaery moves to pull Dany into a mock slow dance, but then Robb is appearing behind her, clearing his throat. 

“Hey, Marge,” he says, and his eyes dart to Dany cautiously. “I… d’you wanna dance?” 

Her best friend looks back to her, eyes wide. Clearly she wants to. Dany already feels bad for stealing Margaery away from everyone else all night. And as much as she hates the idea of the other girl running off with a werewolf, there is really no elegant way to express  _ why  _ she shouldn’t dance with Robb right now without explaining everything. And that will certainly take longer than the three minute song. 

She studies Robb again, and he looks worried, but not because he’s standing so close to a hunter. No. He looks at  _ Margaery,  _ like he’s terrified she’s even here in the first place. 

Which makes  _ no fucking sense,  _ since he’s the monster here. 

“Do you mind?” Margaery asks, and Dany looks at Robb, hoping he can tell just from her eyes that if he does  _ anything  _ to hurt her best friend, she will go full fire-and-blood on him. 

“Of course not,” she says, backing away, but even once she’s out of sight, hovering on the edge of the crowd, she doesn’t take her eyes off of them. 

“He’s not goin’ to hurt her, you know,” she hears next to her, nearly jumping out of her skin. Dany turns, heart thumping traitorously as Jon takes a step closer to her, seeming too wary to completely close the distance between them. Whether it’s for his benefit or hers, she’s not sure. 

“None of us are goin’ to hurt anyone,” he insists, and Dany forces herself to laugh. She won’t let him know about the conflict still in her heart. Because he could just use it against her, she knows. 

That’s what any other werewolf would do. And she needs to stop pretending Jon is different. 

“If that’s so, then why have all three of you been conspiring all night?” she asks. “You don’t look like you’re gossiping about who’s wearing what.” 

Jon sighs, and he looks so  _ tired  _ all of a sudden, so much older than his seventeen years. “Because we know what’s comin’ tonight,” he says. “And I think you do too.” 

Yes, she does. A fight. The end of all of this, whatever that may mean. 

Dany doesn’t say anything, eyes finding Margaery again in the crowd. She’s tucked into Robb’s chest, his hands low on her waist as he murmurs something in her ear. 

“I wish you hadn’t come tonight,” Jon admits, and she startles, realizing he’s right next to her now. She closes her eyes, breathing in the scent of  _ him,  _ like pine trees and fresh snow, and she’s missed him so much that for one irrational second, all she wants to do is leap into his arms again. 

“Why?” she rebuts, still not looking at him. “Because I’m going to ruin your pack’s plans, whatever they may be?” She laughs humorlessly. “Winter is coming, or whatever that bullshit is? Has this always been your end game, then?” Dany turns to face him now, arms crossed, eyes fiery. “Wait for the cold to come, and murder as many people as you possibly can, in the most gruesome way you can imagine?” 

Jon’s jaw flexes, eyes flashing gold for just a moment. She knows it’s harder for werewolves to control themselves on full moons. They’re more powerful then. More animal than human, even if they haven’t shifted. 

“‘Winter is coming’ doesn’t mean a season begins, Daenerys,” he says, voice hard. “The cold is something they bring with them. You think what’s been happenin’ these past few months is bad—” he sighs, shaking his head. “It’s nothin’ compared to what’s about to come.” 

“Enough with the bloody white walkers,” she hisses. “You keep spewing these  _ lies,  _ trying to get my brothers and me to give up on taking out the  _ real  _ enemy here—” 

_ “They  _ are the real enemy, not us,” Jon says, voice like steel. “And they are nothin’ like you’ve ever seen before.” He exhales, looking down, then meeting her eyes again. His burn, imploring, desperate. 

“That’s why I wish you hadn’t come,” he says. “Because everyone is in danger, being here. Dany, I—” his voice breaks, his hand flexing at his side. “Please don’t go lookin’ for them tonight,” he pleads. “I’m sure your brothers have some plan, some scheme to take us down, but trust me, it’s not us you need to fight. And you have no idea how to fight  _ them.”  _

“If you’re trying to get me to give up on stopping you, it won’t happen,” she says, voice icy. “We’re not going to stop until the people of this town are safe again.” 

“But what about  _ you?”  _ Jon snaps. She blinks, taken aback. “If you go out there tonight, you’re riskin’ your life to fight something you don’t understand. And I—” He sighs. “I can’t bear the thought of somethin’ happening to you.” 

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, heart beating frantically, so she doesn’t. 

“I didn’t tell my family about yours,” he finally says, breaking the silence. Her eyes widen, turning to look at him again. 

“Why not?” she says, voice barely a whisper. Jon swallows, stepping closer, a hand coming up to cup her face. His fingers are shaking, imperceptibly, but she sees it. 

She should pull away. She should turn and leave and she should  _ not  _ allow herself to fall back into Jon Snow’s spell, especially right now. 

But it feels so good to have his hand against her skin again. It feels so  _ right,  _ her heart beating desperately in her chest, begging for things to go back to how they were. When she was allowed to want him. 

“Jon,” she says, and it’s like she’s living in a haze, some foggy dreamlike alternate reality. She can’t focus, she can’t  _ think.  _ “Why did you do that?” 

“Because I love you,” he says, and she squeezes her eyes shut, her heart splintering in her chest. 

She can hear the words that follow, even if he leaves them unsaid.  _ Against my better judgement. Even if you and your family are trying to kill mine. Despite it all, I still love you.  _

And she knows that those words are enough to leave her shattered. 

“Jon,” she says, voice low, choked with emotion.  _ Targaryens don’t cry.  _ She is a hunter, first and foremost.  _ Remember why we’re here.  _ She has a job. And she can’t let feelings and teenage flings cloud that. 

He leans into her closer, his forehead pressing against hers. She wants to cry, wants to run away and hide and forget everything that’s happened in this cursed town. She wants to sweep aside the broken pieces of her heart and remember what she really is, and be the hunter she has always wanted to be. She wants to make her family proud, and do what needs to be done to protect the people of this town. 

“Just stop,” she whispers, and Jon freezes, thumb stilling against her cheekbone. 

“We can’t do this,” she says.  _ “I  _ can’t do this.” 

“Dany, please—” he starts, but she can’t. She’s done. Her mind was made up, and she won’t change it now. 

“No,” she says, stepping backwards. His hand lingers in the air for a moment, before it drops slowly to his side again. “No, we can’t.” She frowns, crossing her arms defensively. “I know what I am. And I know what you are. And we can’t go back to how things used to be, no matter what.” 

“But—” he tries to say, but she shakes her head again. She’s done. She has to be strong now, not let her resolve crumble. She has to do the right thing by the people of Winterfell, even if it breaks her heart. 

Even if it means Jon will die. 

“Please,” she begs. “Just go.” His mouth snaps closed, eyes full of pain, but he nods. And then he turns, walking away. 

Dany exhales shakily, trying to regain her composure as the song ends and Margaery reappears.

“Hey!” her friend says, smiling brightly. “There’s only one song left, they said. You want to dance again?” 

She does, and she’s about to tell her friend as much, but then she realizes— she doesn’t see Jon anymore. 

She scans the crowd, eyes narrowing— Sansa and Robb are gone as well. She takes one more sweeping look to make sure, but no— they’re definitely gone. All of them. 

Which means— oh gods. It’s beginning. 

“I— actually, I can’t,” Dany says, turning back to Margaery. “I have to go. Margaery—” Her heart flutters in her chest, panicky all of a sudden. There’s about to be an outpouring of students from the school, a significant portion of whom are drunk and headed out to after parties, or to make other stupid decisions, and… and. They’ll be ripe for the taking, she knows. More dead bodies found in the woods tomorrow. 

“I know this sounds crazy, but please, go right home and stay there,” she begs her friend. She would never forgive herself if something happened to her, this wonderful girl who has truly been there for her this whole time. Who’s shown her what it’s like to really have a  _ friend.  _ “Don’t go to any of the after parties, or out, or anything. Just— go right home. Please.” 

Margaery gives her a funny look. “Robb said the same thing,” she tells her, tossing her immaculate curls over her shoulder. “He kept going on about how it wasn’t safe to be out tonight. He sounded sort of insane, to be honest.” 

“I know,” Dany says, taking her friend’s hands and squeezing. “It does, it sounds insane. But there are things that just…” She exhales, because there’s no way to explain this easily. “Please. I want you to be safe. Please just go home after this.” 

“Alright,” Margaery says. “You two are acting weird enough that it’s sort of scaring me, you know. But I will, I promise.” 

“Thank you,” Dany says, hugging her friend tightly. She squeezes Margaery close, just holding onto her for one more second. 

Because if all goes well tonight, tomorrow, the Starks will be dead, and she will be gone. 

“And thank you for being such a good friend,” Dany adds, because who knows if she’ll ever see the other girl again. They could pack up this weekend and leave without a single trace— they’ve done it before plenty of times. “Just… thank you for everything.” 

Margaery laughs in her arms, pulling back, and her eyes twinkle. “Are you okay, Dany? You’re acting  _ so  _ weird.” Her brow furrows. “You’re not, like… dying, or something, right?” 

Dany laughs, but it gets half stuck in her throat. She knows, even with her brothers’ plan and artillery, that this is a dangerous situation. This could all go horribly wrong. 

“No,” she says. “I just… tonight has reminded me. Of how grateful I am.” 

Margaery smiles again. “Of course, Dany. And I’m grateful for you as well.” 

She gives her friend one last hug, makes her promise once again to go right home, before she’s running out the door, phone already in her hand, dialing her brothers. 

“They’re gone,” she says the moment Rhaegar picks up. “They all just left the dance, disappeared, all together. It’s starting.” 

“We’ll be right there,” Rhaegar says, before the line disconnects. Dany shoves open the doors of the high school, bursting out into the parking lot, eyes scanning for any trace of the Starks. 

There are students milling around already, laughing and drinking in the parking lot, a group of them shrieking with joy as they run around the rugby pitch.  _ Idiots,  _ Dany thinks to herself, wishing everyone else would just  _ go home.  _ She prays more than anything that Margaery listens, that she doesn’t hang around here after the dance ends. 

Bright lights flash in front of her, and then her brothers are pulling into the parking lot, throwing the car into park right before her. “When did they leave?” Viserys asks, the car barely turned off before the doors are thrown open. She grabs her change of clothes from the backseat, fighting her styled hair up into a ponytail, discarding her heels and shimmying into a pair of jeans instead as Rhaegar and the car door shield her. 

“A few minutes before I did,” she says, pulling on a thick sweater before slipping into her hiking boots, leaning over to lace them up. Viserys hands her her knife when she’s done, and she tucks it into her belt, trying to ignore the way her stomach flops at the thought of having to use it on one of the Starks. 

_ They’re monsters,  _ she reminds herself.  _ And monsters need to be hunted.  _

“No sign of where they went?” Rhaegar asks, but before Dany can answer, a piercing scream echoes through the freezing air, all of them going on high alert. Dany’s head whips around, searching for the source. 

The group of the students on the rugby pitch are no longer shrieking with joy— instead, they’re all screaming in terror, some of them sprinting for the parking lot. “I’m guessing there,” Viserys says bitterly, the three of them scrambling for their weapons. Dany slings her crossbow over her shoulder and tucks a gun into her belt, her brothers pulling enough weapons from the trunk to stock a small arsenal. The dance must be over now, students flooding the parking lot, but Dany and her brothers shove through the crowds, running towards the pitch, not away. 

There’s a girl still there collapsed on the field, shaking with hysterical sobs. Dany vaguely recognizes her from class. “What happened?” Rhaegar practically yells, the three of them skidding to a stop. 

“They— something  _ took her!”  _ the girl chokes out, pointing a shaky finger at the wolfwood looming before them. 

“Fuck,” Viserys says, taking off for the woods. Dany and Rhaegar follow automatically, adrenaline pumping through her veins as they dart between the trees, searching for the wolves and the missing girl. 

“We have to find her before it’s too late,” Rhaegar says grimly. Dany just nods. She knows that already. 

“You ready for this?” Rhaegar asks them both, pausing in their pursuit, eyes darting between her and Viserys, but lingering on her. She knows that the question is mostly directed at her. That he’s still giving her an out. 

It’s not one that she can take. She has to do this. She has to prove that she can. She has to protect this town and all the people in it. 

Almost imperceptibly, she nods. 

“Let’s go get the bastards,” Viserys says, and they set off. 

They have a plan, and Dany reviews it again as they trek silently through the woods. She’s the best with a bow, so she’ll take out the stragglers, the wolves on the fringes, while they stay hidden in the trees. Their cover won’t last long, especially with that many werewolves, but the fewer wolves there are, the less power the alpha has. And once Ned Stark is dead, the rest of the pack will be easy targets, kites with the strings cut. Unmoored and unfocused. 

In the distance, they hear a howl, long and low, and silently, all three of them look at each other, changing course and heading for the noise. 

The wolves aren’t far off, all of them pacing in a clearing, hackles raised and teeth gleaming. There’s no sight of the girl that had been dragged off, though— Dany hopes that’s a good sign, that she’s still okay. She forces her heartbeat steady, not wanting to alert any of the wolves to their presence. She draws her bow, loads it, raising it level, focusing on her target. 

And then a flash of white appears in her peripheral vision, and for just a second, her heart falters. 

_ Don’t look,  _ she tells herself.  _ Don’t look, don’t look, pretend he’s not here.  _ She knows that the Starks have to die, but she’s not sure if she’s strong enough to pull the trigger on Jon herself. 

She glances over at her brothers, one of the larger black wolves still in her crosshairs.  _ Now,  _ Viserys mouths, and she turns back to her target, steels herself, and pulls the trigger. 

The wolf moves at the last second, but it still catches it in the shoulder, the beast howling with pain. Immediately, the rest of the pack is on high alert, turning towards the trees, snarling. 

Rhaegar and Viserys have their guns out, shots ringing out in the night, as she reloads quickly, firing on another wolf before she has time to consider who it might be. She’s steadfastly  _ not  _ looking at Jon, letting her instincts take over, years and years of training rule her actions. 

But still, there are too many wolves, and some of them break off from the pack, circling around. “Dany!” Rhaegar calls, and his warning makes her spin around, dodging just in time as a tawny wolf charges right at her. She catches the thing in the jaw with her elbow, spinning under its snapping mouth and pulling her dagger out, slashing at its side. It howls, retreating, but even so, another wolf appears right behind it. This one’s fur is red. Gods,  _ Sansa.  _

She can hear Viserys and Rhaegar behind her, fighting just as hard. Dany relies on instinct, heart pounding as she dodges and strikes and stabs, fighting with every ounce of fire in her to take down these beasts. Her back bumps into something, and she realizes the wolves have driven her and her brothers into a tight circle, surrounding them. 

Gods, maybe this was a fucking stupid idea. They’re surrounded, outnumbered, overpowered. And then the wolves part a little bit, the largest of all pushing through the gap and stalking towards them, red eyes glowing. 

The alpha. And right next to him, Jon. 

Finally, her resolve crumbles, and she looks at him. His head bows, golden eyes shining, something almost sorrowful and desperate in them. 

_ Please,  _ it looks like he’s begging. She can practically hear him say the words.  _ Please, don’t do this.  _

But they have to do this. She can feel her brothers stiffen next to her, guns raised, knives in hand. Even if it’s the end of them as well, they have to do whatever they can to protect the people of this town. To put an end to whatever the werewolves are planning, and not let any more unnecessary slaughter happen. 

“Where’s the girl?” Viserys spits, staring down the alpha fearlessly. Rhaegar takes her hand behind their backs, squeezing it. Her resolve stiffens, eyes hardening as she stares down the wolf. He growls lowly, taking a step closer, but Dany doesn’t let her heartbeat waver. 

But then there’s a noise behind them, all the wolves immediately going on high alert. 

The alpha snarls, pushing past Dany and her brothers, stalking to the other side of the clearing. She’s a little taken aback at what sudden disregard the wolves have for them, but then— then.

Then she sees it. 

Shadowy figures lurk through the trees, moving closer, slowly. Dany can see the outlines of their silhouettes, the glow of their eyes, even in the pale moonlight. Her heart catches in her throat, realizing suddenly that it’s the same thing she saw that night in the clearing, before she’d found the wolves. 

She had assumed they were the same. But as the creatures emerge from the trees and her stomach flips, she can tell just how wrong she was. 

A dozen or so figures enter the clearing, skin frosty and pale, eyes glowing like ice. They move silently, unhumanlike, the air growing colder the closer they come. 

_ Gods, Jon was right,  _ she realizes, heart crashing against her ribcage, dread filling her stomach.

“What the fuck,” Viserys whispers next to her, squeezing her arm. Dany whips around, eyes finding Jon, and he stares back at her. She can practically hear him say  _ I told you.  _

Ned Stark pads up to the White Walkers, growl low in the back of his throat. He’s flanked on either side by more wolves from the pack— gradually, they step away from Dany and her brothers, until only one or two circle them. The rest stalk across the clearing, ears flat to their heads, teeth bared as they approach the other creatures. 

It’s clear from the wolves that she and Rhaegar and Viserys aren’t the threat—  _ these  _ things are. And this is what they’ve been preparing for, all this time. 

The creature in front _ smiles _ as he regards the wolves, cooly and creepily. And then he raises a hand, tossing something to the alpha’s massive front paws. 

Dany almost vomits when she sees what it is. A teenage girl’s head, the eyes glazed over and unstaring. A girl she recognizes from her class. The one whose friend had screamed as she was dragged into the woods. 

The wolves gnash their teeth, the alpha snarling at the creatures, before they all spring into action. 

The White Walkers move with scary agility, lithe and nimble and powerful. It looks almost like they’re dancing with the wolves, darting around them faster than should be possible, striking back with their weapons of ice. 

“What the fuck,” Viserys repeats, eyes wide as they watch the battle before them unfold. “What… what do we do?” 

“We have to help,” Dany hears herself say. “I… Jon was right. The werewolves aren’t the enemy,  _ these  _ things are.” 

“What?” Rhaegar says sharply. “Dany, we don’t know anything about these creatures. We need to…” 

“Need to what, Rhaegar?” she snaps back. “We need to protect the people of this town. Isn’t that why we’re here?” She nods toward the White Walkers. “We know how to fight. We have to help.” 

Rhaegar sighs in defeat, but she knows he knows she’s right. Dany turns to the wolf circling them, her dark red fur shining in the pale moonlight. “Please, Sansa,” Dany whispers, meeting her golden eyes. “Please let us help.” 

Sansa just studies her for a moment, eyes narrowing, before finally she looks away, running to join her family in their fight. 

“Plan?” Viserys says, looking between the two of them. 

“Well, if we’re assuming the same pack dynamics apply, we try to take out the leader,” she says, nodding towards the scariest looking of the White Walkers, one with frozen spikes protruding from his head, a long staff of ice gripped in his hand as he battles Ned Stark. “I don’t know,” she admits, heart pounding. “I just know we have to do  _ something.”  _

“Then let’s go,” Rhaegar says, reloading his gun, emerging from the trees. 

The wolves seem alarmed by their sudden appearance at first, until Dany loads her bow, pointing it right at one of the White Walkers fighting a smaller tawny wolf. She takes aim, firing a bolt, catching the creature right in the heart. 

It stops, looking at her, before it pulls the bolt free, dropping it on the ground and continuing to fight as if nothing had happened. 

_ “Shit,”  _ she hisses, abandoning the crossbow, grabbing her gun from her belt instead. Next to her, a huge black wolf manages to grab a White Walker’s head in its jaws, ripping it clean from its body, the rest of it crumpling to the ground. 

“New plan,” she tells her brothers. “The wolves can kill them. Just help distract the white walkers enough to let the wolves take them out.” 

“That sounds like a terrible plan,” Viserys retorts.

“Do you have a better one?” she snaps, adrenaline making her heart pound. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees one of the creatures moving towards Jon, who is preoccupied with another White Walker. 

“Jon!” she screams, not even thinking, just  _ running.  _ She aims her gun, not caring if it has little effect other than slowing the creature down, firing off a round of shots into its chest. The White Walker looks less than perturbed, but Jon realizes it’s behind him, turning and snarling at the creature. 

She lets instincts take over, her knife in one hand and gun in the other as she and Jon fight the two White Walkers, slashing and shooting and swiping with claws, to no avail. Dany fires a bullet into the heart of one of them, and it just stares back at her blankly, moving towards her again.

Why are supernatural beings always  _ so fucking hard to kill?  _ she thinks to herself, taking aim again, this time its head in her crosshairs. But the other one is lunging at her from the side, and she doesn’t realize until it’s too late, time slowing down as the flash of its icy blade draws closer and closer. 

But then she’s shoved out of the way, a wall of white fur between her and the knife, as Jon’s jaw locks around the White Walker’s head, tearing it clean off. 

She hardly has a moment to process what just happened before the other one is lunging for him, swiping at his front leg and landing a blow. Jon howls in pain, crumpling to the ground. 

Dany’s vision goes red, and she doesn’t even think, she just  _ acts.  _ With a cry of outrage, she leaps forward, Valyrian Steel knife in hand, driving the blade into the White Walker’s chest before it even has a chance to react. 

The creature, for once, looks shocked, before it shatters into a spray of ice, chilling her to the bone. 

“Valyrian steel!” she yelps, hand shaking as she turns towards the clearing, where her brothers are fighting against the wolves. “Valyrian steel kills them!” 

A groan of pain from the ground pulls her attention back, heart racing in fear as she takes in Jon before her.  _ Jon,  _ not the wolf, lying on the ground in his human form. “Fuck,” he mutters, wincing as he sits up, cradling his arm to his chest. 

“Jon,” she yelps, falling to her knees, hands shaking as she reaches out for his arm. There’s a huge gash running down it, and it looks broken, blood-soaked and sitting at a funny angle. “Gods, Jon, are you—” 

“I’ll be okay,” he says, voice sounding a little dazed, far too pained. “It’ll heal. But I can’t— there’s too much pain. I can’t shift back.” 

_ Pain keeps you human,  _ she knows, from years of training and reading. For a werewolf to not be able to shift, they have to be in significant pain, their bodies shutting down everything else to focus on healing, which just worries her even more. 

She takes him in again, eyes glazing over, a little unfocused, and her stomach drops out. Knowing now that he was  _ right,  _ that she questioned him and vilified him all this time when he was just trying to do the same thing she and her brothers were— fuck, it feels like there’s a stone lodged in her throat, dread and panic and regret flooding her. 

“Gods, Jon, I’m so sorry,” she says, heart racing. “I should have  _ listened,  _ I shouldn’t have been so close-minded— I should have believed you.” 

“S’alright,” he murmurs, but it’s  _ not.  _ Nothing about this is alright in the slightest. “I know the idea of them is… impossible to believe.” 

“Stop,” she says, hands still shaking as she tries to staunch the bleeding. “Jon, please, you can’t die.” 

“I’m alright, Dany,” he promises, but  _ how  _ can he be alright, even now? His voice is too weak, skin too pale. Hours ago she was dead set on killing him and now he might  _ die  _ and it’s all too much… 

Before she can even think, Dany lunges forward, her hands grabbing at his face as she brings her lips to his. 

All the turmoil inside her fades away as Jon unfreezes, kissing her back. Even now, in the middle of a fucking battle as Jon practically bleeds out, peace settles over her heart, and she just  _ knows.  _ No matter what they are, what they’ve done. Her heart belongs to him. 

Jon’s eyes are wide when she pulls away, one hand still cupping his face. He exhales, eyes darting between hers, trying to make sense of what just happened. 

“Why… why did you do that?” he asks, and his voice is shaky, but not because of his injury. 

“Because I love you,” Dany says, unable to deny it any longer. She needs him to know. 

He just blinks at her, taken aback, but then he smiles. It’s small, just the corners of his lips tugging up, but his eyes are molten, brighter than the moonlight. 

“You cannot die,” she repeats, pulling her gun from her belt, reloading it. It won’t stop the white walkers if they come at him, but it’ll slow them down enough for someone else to get to him. She presses it into his hands, squeezing them tightly. “I’m going to go end this.” 

The way Jon looks at her as she stands, she knows he believes it. 

No sooner than she turns around, another white walker is coming at her, but now Dany’s prepared. Her knife clutched in hand, she dodges his blow, weaving expertly to parry his strikes, lips curled back in a snarl. The way they move is unnerving, inhuman; it’s maybe the hardest Dany’s ever fought, just trying to evade the razor sharp blade of ice clutched in the monster’s hand. 

Finally, she gets her opening; spinning under its outstretched arm, she catches the white walker in the ribs with her blade, and it shatters into a spray of ice. Dany makes a face, wiping the frigid crystals from her forehead. 

_ How did this become my life?  _ she wonders, taking a moment to catch her breath.  _ Fighting with werewolves against undead demons with icicle swords?  _

Next to her, a wolf lets out a scream of pain; Dany turns, watching in horror as the big black one collapses on the forest floor, a white walker poised above it. She lunges to the side, kicking it in the knees and sending it stumbling back, throwing her knife with deadly accuracy before it can regain its senses. The blade catches it square in the chest, and it crumbles into nothingness. 

“Are you alright?” she says, kneeling down next to the wolf, its eyes unfocused and breathing labored. The fact that it hasn’t turned back into a human is probably a good sign, but still, it’s in no condition to get up and keep fighting. 

The wolf whines, looking at something past her, and ice creeps down Dany’s spine, a terrifying sense of foreboding suddenly filling her. 

_ “Rhaegar!”  _ she hears Viserys cry. The world seems to move in slow motion as Dany turns, her eldest brother’s silver hair flashing as he fights against the Night King, his icy blade glinting in the moonlight before the monster lunges forward, lodging it into Rhaegar’s heart. 

_ “No!”  _ Dany screams, her brother crumpling to the ground. The creature looks at her, blue eyes cold and remorseless, and  _ grins.  _

Her vision turns red. Dany doesn’t think at all; rage pumps through her veins and her blood pounds in her ears. No more strategies, no more calculating, no more  _ anything.  _ She moves like it’s an instinct, snatching up her knife as her hands curl into fists at her sides, fire consuming her, like she’s a dragon of old. 

The space between the two of them shrinks rapidly, Dany’s vision tunnelling, and all she can see is the Night King. He’s ready for her, that cruel, twisted smile still on his face, as if she’s a bothersome fly that he’ll easily swat away. 

_ I am the blood of the dragon,  _ she thinks, rage powering her every move.  _ And now I’m going to kill you.  _

The other white walkers were nothing in comparison to the Night King— he’s quicker, more clever, more agile. He moves so fast that Dany can barely keep up, but she fights back with a deathly determination. 

She will kill this monster for all he’s done. To her and to Jon and to Winterfell. To everyone. 

She ducks under his blade, trying to get a counterstrike in with her dagger, but he’s too fast. The adrenaline flooding her body is the only thing that keeps her going as they fight, their movements so quick it almost seems like a dance. She just needs one opening,  _ just one,  _ to take him down. 

Dany swipes and slashes, dodges and defends, her lips curled back in a snarl and her fingers turning white as she grips her dagger. There’s no one else to come to her aide— everyone around her is fighting for their lives against the rest of them. She dodges the Night King’s blade once more, finally,  _ finally  _ spotting her opening. 

Or so she thought. Just as she raises her blade to slash at the monster before her, he grabs her wrist, his hand icy cold against her skin, dagger suspended in the air. His other goes to her throat, his grip too tight, making her gasp for breath. 

_ Shit,  _ Dany thinks, fear starting to seep in. She struggles against his grip, her air supply running out, but he’s uncannily strong, that taunting smile back as he watches her try to break free. 

_ This is how I’m going to die,  _ she realizes, the Night King leering at her. There’s no one else to help her, no one to save her now. 

And then gunshots ring out, the noise echoing through the clearing even as the battle rages on. The Night King is taken aback, the bullets piercing through his side, and Dany takes advantage of his momentary distraction to break free from his grip, gasping for air. He realizes what’s happened a second too late, and before he can react, she lunges, lodging her dagger in his heart. 

His icy eyes go wide, and then he shatters, dissolving into ice. 

Dany’s chest is still heaving, half from adrenaline, half from almost being strangled, and she looks wildly to her side, realizing it’s  _ Jon  _ standing there in human form, injured arm cradled against his torso, gun still raised and pointed at where the Night King just was. 

Around the cleaning, the other white walkers all pause, before one by one, they too dissolve into ice, shattering without their leader there to anchor them. The wolves freeze, their golden eyes taking in the scene, registering that the enemy is defeated. 

Dany doesn’t give herself any time to assess the carnage— there are wolves lying motionless on the ground, a few more limping with injury— all she cares about is her brother. 

“Rhaegar!” she gasps, falling to her knees, pulling his body into her arms. His coat is soaked with blood, skin pale, eyes half open. “Rhaegar, listen, stay with me!” 

Viserys is by her side in a moment, pushing Rhaegar’s hair out of his face, trying to staunch the bleeding. There’s a nasty cut across his forehead, but he seems unperturbed, hands shaking as he assesses their brother’s wound. 

“Dany,” Rhaegar says, and his voice is weak,  _ too  _ weak. “You were right,” he tells her, fumbling for her hand, squeezing it. His grip is so weak, it terrifies her. 

She lets out an undignified noise, half a laugh, half a sob, rocking a little as she cradles her brother. Viserys’ hands are covered in his blood now, but they’ve stopped, and she knows why— the wound is too great. Too fatal. Their brother is dying, and there’s nothing they can do about it. 

“I’m proud of you,” he tells her, violet eyes hazy, words starting to slur. “So proud, Dany.” He blinks, turning his head to Viserys, just barely. It seems to take all his strength. 

“Stop it, Rhaegar,” Viserys snaps, but his voice is verging on hysterical, his eyes also flooding with tears. “Stop it. You’re going to be okay. Just stay with us, alright?” 

“Can’t,” he murmurs, eyes sliding shut. “You know.” He exhales, and it sounds more like a wheeze than a breath, a trickle of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. 

He shudders, brows drawing in pain, and Dany wants to scream. It’s not  _ fair,  _ not fair at all that the world should take their brother. He’s so young, so  _ good.  _ He doesn’t deserve to bleed out on a cold forest floor, slaughtered by a monster. 

“No, no,” she cries, tears blurring her vision.  _ “Rhaegar,  _ no.” 

Something shifts behind her, and then Robb is kneeling down next to her, human once again. “What are you doing?!” Dany snaps as he reaches out, gripping Rhaegar’s other hand. But then Robb winces, black lines creeping up from his fingertips along his arm, almost like veins, and Rhaegar sighs contently. 

“Taking his pain,” Robb murmurs, his eyes sliding closed. “He doesn’t deserve to suffer.” 

Time seems to pass both slowly and all too fast, Dany and Viserys holding their brother helplessly as the life drains from him. “Rhaegar,” she begs, voice broken and raw. “Please, don’t.” 

“Love you, Dany girl,” he murmurs, his words barely audible. “You too, Vis.” He sighs again, one last shuddering exhale. “You two. Stay… good. You have to… help people.” 

Dany sobs, smoothing a hand across her brother’s cheek, holding him close for as long as he has left. “We will,” she promises, looking up at Viserys. He nods again, purple eyes clouded with sorrow. “I promise we will.” 

Dany’s not sure how much longer they hold him, but eventually Rhaegar’s breathing stops, his chest going still. Robb blinks, withdrawing his hand. The black lines fade away, and Dany realizes— there isn’t any more pain for him to take. 

“I can’t hear his heartbeat anymore,” she hears Jon say, barely a whisper, but it sounds like it’s coming through a fog. Dany turns, realizing he’s been behind her, and without even thinking, she falls into his arms. 

He strokes up and down her back as she sobs into his shoulder, time ceasing to exist. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs over and over again, lips against the crown of her head. “I’m so sorry.” 

She doesn’t remember leaving the Wolfswood. She doesn’t remember going back to the car, arriving back at their apartment, changing out of her clothes. It’s like time jumped, somehow, and all of a sudden she isn’t crouched on the frozen ground, she’s huddled on the couch in their living room. She looks up at a sound in the doorway, and there’s Viserys, looking just as lost as she feels. 

Their eyes meet, and they don’t need to say anything. Her brother joins her on the couch, their arms wrapping around each other, and together, they weep. 

***

“So what do we do now?” Dany asks, her voice still small. 

It’s been five days. Time passed differently during the weekend, seeming to start and stop at will. She hasn’t been back to school since. Graduating high school seems like a trivial concept now. 

“We keep going,” Viserys says, though his voice sounds just as weak as hers does. Hunters may not have alphas, but Rhaegar was their strength, their leader. Without him, Dany feels… lost. Unmoored. 

Maybe they aren’t that different from werewolves in that way. 

“We promised him we would,” Viserys says, violet eyes meeting hers. 

“We did,” Dany says, and for just a moment, she can feel that spark of fire within her return. 

“I should have listened to Jon,” she says, eyes blazing. “If I hadn’t let my prejudice blind me, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.” 

“Dany—” Viserys says, voice cautious. 

“No, I’m not— I know it’s not my fault,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t mean it like that. But we were so focused on hunting the werewolves, just because it’s what we’ve always known. If we stopped and  _ listened,  _ tried to protect the people here instead of hunting the monsters, maybe things would have been different.” 

“What are you saying?” Viserys says, meeting her eyes across the counter. 

“I’m saying we keep going,” she says. “Like Rhaegar wanted. But we have a new code. No more hunting those who hunt us.” 

Viserys’ brow furrows in confusion, but she continues.  _ “Īlon mīsagon lī qilōni daor mīsagon pōntāla,”  _ she says, and his eyes clear. 

“We protect those who cannot protect themselves,” he recites back, and nods. There’s a hint of a smile pulling at his mouth, and for the first time since Friday night, Dany feels like maybe she’s actually moving forward. 

“With fire and blood,” she adds, a grin playing at her lips, and Viserys’s eyes shine. 

“With fire and blood,” he repeats. “Always.” 

***

“You’re leavin’, aren’t you,” Jon says, and she knows it isn’t a question. 

They’ve been sitting on the edge of his bed for at least ten minutes now, neither daring to say a word. Saying it makes it more real, somehow. Now that they’ve finally found their way back to each other— well. Now they’re going to be torn back apart anyways. 

“I have to,” she says, voice quiet. “We have to go. We were always going to.” 

He exhales, squeezing her hand, their fingers tangled together between them. “I wish you didn’t have to,” he says, turning towards her. She can’t look at him, can’t bear to see the pain in his eyes. 

Jon raises his other hand— his arm is completely healed by now— and cups her face, turning it towards him. “I know it’s selfish,” he says, and that’s when she finally meets his eyes. “But I want you to stay.” 

She exhales, leaning into Jon’s hand. “I want to stay too,” she says. “But the white walkers are gone. The town is safe.” Her lips tug to the side, defeated. “We have to move on.” 

“I know.” He sounds subdued, his voice quiet. Dany squeezes her eyes shut, leaning in closer to him. 

“D’you know where you’re going yet?” he asks. 

“Back to Dragonstone,” she says, though she knows they won’t stay long there. “We have to— lay him to rest. With the rest of our family.” 

Jon nods, eyes casting down. His hand drops from her face, and he leans into her, his forehead pressing against hers. 

“Dany,” he whispers, and her eyes close, trying to let the feeling of being so close to Jon again calm her. “Did you mean it?” he asks, voice almost broken, and she wants to cry at the raw hope in his voice. 

She doesn’t have to ask what he means. She already knows. 

“Yes,” she breathes, and she feels him exhale shakily. “I did. I  _ do.”  _ She holds her breath for a moment, eyes squeezing closed even tighter. “I love you.” 

She feels Jon move forward rather than sees it, and then his lips are covering hers, her arms wrapping around him, holding him as tightly as she can. Like if she lets go, he’ll disappear into smoke. She drinks in his taste, pours everything she feels into the kiss, because she knows it is probably going to be their last. 

That thought breaks her heart more than she can fathom. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers against her lips when they break apart, arms holding her close to his chest. “I just got you back.” 

“I don’t want to lose you either,” she tells him. She blinks, meeting his eyes through her lashes, and the sorrow in his grey irises— it shatters her completely. 

“But I have to go.” 

He sighs, a hand coming up to tangle in her hair. “I know.” 

Dany climbs into his lap, resting her forehead against his shoulder, just letting herself savor his warmth for a few more minutes. She knows, after this, she’ll probably never see him again. The chances of them ever coming back to this town are slim to none. Especially with the Starks here to protect it. 

“One day,” Jon murmurs into her hair, hands still stroking up and down her spine, “we’re goin’ to find each other again.” She lifts her head a little, and his nose nudges hers. 

“You can’t know that,” she mumbles, but he shakes his head, leaning down to kiss her again. She sighs against his lips, wishing more than anything his words are true. 

But Dany isn’t a fool. She knows how this works. She and Viserys will go off, hunt more monsters. Protect more people. Live by their new code. And Jon— Jon will stay here, protecting people like he’s always done. Like she failed to see. 

“I do,” he insists, his eyes boring into hers, steely and determined. “I just know it, Dany. We’re meant to be together. Someday. It’ll happen.” 

She laughs a little at that, because while she’d love to believe his beautiful words, his declarations of fate, she knows they’re nothing more than hope-filled dreams. Things she wishes would come true. 

“There’s no such thing as fate,” she says, blinking back tears, but Jon is smiling at her, so she smiles too. 

Gods, she loves him. 

He presses one last kiss to her lips, squeezing her tight. “Well,” he says, eyes shining with hope. “There’s also no such thing as werewolves.” 

***

It feels  _ so  _ strange, to be back here after all these years. 

The trees of Winterfell have just begun to change, the leaves turning shades of brilliant reds and yellows and oranges. There’s a crispness to the air that autumn in the Riverlands lacks entirely, and Dany revels in it, after having spent two months at Riverrun. 

They’d found the monster there, terrorizing the town, and made sure the people were safe once again. They’re still hunters, but now they live by the new code.  _ Her  _ code.

_ We protect those who cannot protect themselves.  _

And always, with fire and blood. 

Winterfell hasn’t changed much in the six years she’s been away. Not as much as she has, anyway. Her skills are sharper, wits stronger. She has deadly aim with a crossbow and a degree in psychology from Baelor University. She’d thought Viserys would protest that— he’d always thought getting a degree was a waste of time for a hunter with an almost endless family fortune to rely on— but when she’d told him, he’d smiled, and agreed that it was a good idea. Dany’s not really sure if she’ll ever do anything with it, but she likes the possibility. 

Four years at uni gave her clarity she’d needed her whole life. And she knows now, there’s no definitive line between being a hunter and being normal. She’ll never be just one or the other. She can be bits of both. 

Her boots click against the cobblestone walkway as she heads towards her old favorite coffee shop. She can’t even count how many afternoons she and Margaery had spent laughing together in one of the back booths. Dany knows Margaery isn’t here anymore; they’ve been in touch since Dany left, and her best friend went off to uni at Highgarden, fell in love with the city, and never left. Still, it feels strange, walking into the shop and not having the other girl beside her. 

This place, like the town, hasn’t changed much. She goes up to the counter and orders her same drink from all those years ago, inhaling the familiar scent of coffee and fresh baked pastries as she pays for her beverage. 

The cashier gives her back a receipt, and she smiles at the girl gratefully, tucking her wallet back into her purse and stepping away to let the next person in line order while she waits for her drink. And then— her heart catches in her throat, eyes landing on a person a few feet away. 

He doesn’t see her— not yet. But even six years later, she would recognize him anywhere. 

_ Jon.  _

Her heart beats frantically, like she’s seventeen all over again. 

His eyes are lazily trained on the counter, clearly waiting for his name to be called as well. He looks older now, but then, so does she. His shoulders are broader, once-lanky frame filled out, all strong, hard muscle now. The shadow of a beard he’d had in high school is thick and full, and his dark curls are longer, the top half pulled back in a knot at the back of his head. 

He looks good. He looks  _ well.  _ There’s only been a handful of times in the past years she hasn’t thought of him, and to see him here in front of her again is almost too much. 

Even though she’s grown up, a little piece of her heart has never quite moved on from him. 

The sunlight streams through the coffee shop’s windows as his name is called, and it highlights the sharp lines of his face as he looks up, stepping forward to claim his drink. It makes a golden haze appear behind him, silhouetting him against the windows. Like he’s part of a dream, a figment of her imagination. 

He takes a sip of his coffee, turning to leave, and that’s when he sees her. 

Jon freezes, blinking as he takes her in. The silence becomes too much, her heart racing, and she exhales shakily. 

“Hi,” she says, barely a whisper, but she knows with his hearing, he’ll pick it up. 

“Dany?” he asks, and he sounds breathless. Like her standing there in front of him is something he never thought he’d see again in this lifetime. 

When she’d left six years ago, she had resigned herself to the same thing. 

“Yeah,” she says, twisting her fingers together nervously. “It’s good to see you.” 

He shakes his head a little bit, almost incredulous. “Aye, you as well,” he says. His mouth parts, like he’s searching for words he can’t find. 

“How are you?” she asks, stepping closer to him to let someone behind her get to the counter. Jon just blinks at her a moment longer, still dumbstruck. 

“Er— I’m alright,” he says, fingers tightening around his coffee cup. “What about you? I— Margaery told me you went to uni.” 

“I did,” she says. “I studied psychology. It was a nice— reprieve.” 

She doesn’t have to explain from what, Jon’s eyes softening. 

There’s a silence between them, not necessarily  _ awkward,  _ but… heavy, as they try to sort out six years of words left unsaid. 

“I—” Jon pauses, restarting. There’s a caution to his eyes, like he’s trying to tamp down what he’s really feeling. 

Dany knows what that’s like. She’s always been an expert at masking her feelings, but never around him. 

“What are you doin’ here, Dany?” he finally gets out. It isn’t accusatory. He just seems unable to comprehend her presence before him. 

The barista calls out her name, and Dany grabs her coffee off the counter, clutching it nervously. “I heard people were disappearing again,” she says quietly, looking up to meet his eyes through her lashes. She’d seen something on the news a few days ago, right after they’d finished up in Riverrun, and she’d just known she had to go. “And I wanted to help.” 

He smiles at her then, that small, private smile that used to make her heart flutter when she was a teenager. It still has the same effect on her now, she can see. 

“Well, gods know we can use all the help we can get,” he says with a chuckle. He nods towards the café door, and she nods, following him as he pushes through the throng of people, back outside and into the warm autumn air. 

“Is it white walkers again?” she asks, and he shakes his head. 

“No, thank the gods. Somethin’ different. We found two different bodies, both of them strangled to death, throats slit, and heads bashed in. Could just be a serial killer, but somethin’ seems off about it.” 

Dany grimaces. “A three-fold death. I’ll look through our bestiary, and our other research. See if I can find anything.” 

“Thank you,” he says, sneaking a glance at her, that little smile tugging at his lips again. “The quicker we can figure out what it is, the easier it’ll be to stop it.” He shakes his head. “There are too many bloody monsters that come to this town.” 

She laughs, taking a sip of her coffee. 

“Well, you do have a weirwood planted in your backyard.” 

Jon’s lips tick up in amusement. “Aye, it’s not the best idea, probably,” he admits. “But it feels wrong cuttin’ it down.” 

Jon pauses for a moment, just studying her, and she halts, blinking nervously as he surveys her. 

“What?” she asks, suddenly self conscious. 

“Nothin’,” he says, shaking his head, and when he meets her eyes, that look in his grey irises brings her right back to being seventeen. 

“It’s just…” He pauses, smiling just a little bit once again. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again. This sort of feels like a dream.” 

“For me as well,” she whispers, trying to fight back a grin, but it’s impossible. Her heart is racing in her chest, and somehow it feels like no time has passed whatsoever. She may be a different person now, but her heart still belongs to Jon, she’s certain. Seeing him again in front of her is just proof of that. 

Six years, she’s never stopped loving him. Even if at times she forgot, her feelings faded, a piece of her heart has always been his. And being with him again now— all it does is make her more sure. 

_ We’re meant to be together,  _ he’d told her, right before she left. She hadn’t wanted to believe him then, knowing that she might never see him again. But now… 

Maybe now is their someday. 

She’s not sure which one of them moves first. It might be Jon, who can hear her wild heartbeat. It might be her, who can see in his eyes that his feelings have never left either. But all of a sudden she’s in his arms, the hand not holding her coffee cup coming up to sink into his curls as he kisses her. 

It feels like finally inhaling again after holding her breath for years, drinking water after wandering through an endless desert. Her heart pounds in her chest as Jon’s lips move fervently against hers, trying to make up for six years of missed time. 

They’re both smiling when they break away, noses pressed together, and Dany feels wonderfully, completely  _ whole.  _

“No such thing as fate, aye?” he murmurs against her lips, and Dany laughs, looking up through her lashes. It’s been six years, and she’s different, and he’s different, but  _ this—  _ this feeling, she knows, will never change. 

“Well,” she whispers, smiling, and her heart feels lighter than it has in years, now that she’s back in Jon’s arms. “We both know I was wrong about werewolves as well.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter if you wanna find me!


End file.
